New World Blues
by Doppelganger312
Summary: While investigating the alleged alien sightings north of Vegas, the Courier is abducted and, through a mishap, transportalpondered to the planet Remnant. It seems, however, that the planet's newest "hero" isn't as heroic as he first appears. Can a man be trusted to save a world when he's just as likely to turn his back on it? Pairings possible, though not currently planned.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Second Worst Tuesday Ever

**AN: The author does not own the rights to Fallout or RWBY, which are owned by Bethesda and Rooster Teeth, respectively. No profit is made from this story.**

* * *

_It is said that war..._

_War never changes. Men do change; always moving ahead, constantly adapting to survive. But like war, there comes a time, a circumstance from which there is no returning from._

_And so man must continue to walk down the path he made for himself. A path of destruction, of failure, of regret. A path that can only be walked once in a lifetime._

* * *

The victory at the second Battle of Hoover Dam was not, as some had had come to imagine, the end of the war. The conflict rages on as the New California Republic continues to struggle in the wasteland. Wild animals, stubborn Legionnaires, even what some officials simply refer to as 'the Unknown'* all remained and were a threat to the Republic. It was the Courier's sworn duty to eliminate threats like these.

"-a bunch of assholes, making me do their legwork again. What did I ever do to deserve this? ...never mind, that one's pretty obvious."

Of course, 'ensuring the security of the frontier' proved itself to be a tiring, thankless job. As was the act of saving the Republic itself almost single-handedly.

"They don't want me near their towns, I get _that_. But really, aliens? Who the hell believes in that crap anyway? Everyone knows those sightings back west all those years ago were probably just some Jet trip gone wrong."

At this moment, 'the Unknown' was highest on the NCR's agenda.*** Well, not quite.****

While the first Battle of Hoover Dam in 2277 had been a heavy blow to both sides, the second ended more in the Republic's favor. At least, the conflict with the Legion did. The NCR was already struggling throughout the Mojave itself, so the plan was to redeploy most of the soldiers from these areas to fortify Hoover Dam. Many were left behind, nearly all killed, believing their deaths were helping their country. Meanwhile, most in the West Coast were oblivious to these losses. As a result of this misinformation, morale throughout the Republic was at an all time, as was the number of volunteering troopers. Unfortunately, an Old World warhead just so happened to hit the route between California and Nevada during one of Six's 'trips' out of the Mojave. As long as the front lines were waiting for these soldiers and supplies to find another route, there was little to be done besides attempting to reclaim the foothold it had lost from its risky strategy.

As 'bat-shit insane' as the Courier thought his current mission was, Ambassador Crocker was reluctant to ignore such consistent reports of a recurring phenomenon. The north western section of the Mojave wasteland was still largely unexplored by the NCR and only recently caught the attention of the higher-ups. While rumors were largely disregarded, especially when it likely to have originated in some back alley in Freeside, the same story was spreading through New Vegas like wildfire. No matter who the speaker was, the tale was always the same. It wasn't long before northern Vegas became a part of NCR patrols. During this time, four different squads, all comprised of troopers with (relatively) clean records had confirmed the rumors after coming back from patrol: green humanoids in shiny jumpsuits crowded around a large, metal structure. They looked unlike the super mutants and mutated flora that inhabited the area, and no ghouls had been seen so far north in the desert. Any remaining Fiends in the area prevented a more thorough investigation, however.

Courier Six didn't even get a chance to call 'BS' a second time before he was set loose. And so, with a few vodka bottles in hand (and plenty more littering the ground behind him) he trudged out of Freeside. As he made his way to the natural barrier north of Vegas, he reflected once again on how things had changed after just a few months. 'Lifeless, just like everywhere else I step. Not that there was much here to begin with, but even the Fiends were preferable to this.' Where one would hear a silent wasteland, Six heard the deafening screams of the lives he ended. And, over time, the silence seemed to spread throughout the wasteland. Always present. A constant reminder of what he couldn't take back. As if on cue, he found himself standing in front of the collapsed tunnel that led to what used to be Zion. Simply another failure of his, carved into the wasteland. Almost immediately, he turned his back on the rubble, just like he had done a dozen times before. Six instead chose to focus on his drinks once again as he made his way west.

As the distance between him and his destination decreased, so too did his alcohol, and, as a result, his attention span. The way he had been going, the Courier may as well have been walking through Powder Ganger territory with a blindfold, or worse yet the Boomers' artillery field. In fact, on hindsight, either would be preferable to his situation. Mainly because neither involved aliens. With all the vodka he had consumed, however, it was unlikely a blindfold would have any effect on him.

"Fuckin' great. Already almost out," he slurred. As the Courier tipped the final bottle back, however, all he tasted was ashes. Six could only watch as the gray dust fell through his gloved fingers. When he finally took notice of his company, it took mere moments for his barely sober mind to process.

'They shot my booze.' Disregarding the fact that he was being shot at by aliens, he simply scowled at them. To think that anyone in the Mojave would have the gall to shoot at him! Even the Freeside junkies had learned to stay away by now! _'They shot my booze.'_

The three unlucky scouts were given a very poor first impression of Earth that day, for Hell hath no fury like a bitter man without his vodka.

* * *

The fight was over nearly instantaneously, the gunman's notoriously quick hand drawing before his enemies could think to fire again. Once all three of their heads burst, he proceeded to do what he did best: scavenge anything that wasn't nailed down.***** Unfortunately, these supposedly 'other-worldly beings' weren't carrying much in the way of alien technology. Even the jumpsuits ended up being fancy-looking aluminum foil from before the war. 'I suppose I could get a bit for the tri-beams, if I needed it. I'll probably just put 'em with the rest, though.' As he approached what was presumably the leader's body, though, something caught his eye. Brushing the wind-swept sand off of its smooth surface, Six yanked the nearly buried object from the ground. After observing the strange new pistol, he simply whistled.

"Guess this is where all my good luck's been going all these years. Not sure it was worth it, but I suppose I'll take what I can get. 'Cause Lord knows NCR isn't getting their hands on it," he finished with a hollow chuckle. The vodka was wearing off quick, and if he didn't fix that soon, he'd be spending the rest of the day lamenting over those 'less fortunate' incidents. "Better head back now, I guess."

Of course, any wastelander knew the Courier never had good fortune to begin with. Fate merely decided it would see just how cruel it could be, and seemed to be succeeding. After all, what better way to torment a man than let him think things were looking up?

The moment he pocketed the latest addition to his arsenal, a blue haze surrounded his form. Finally, Six was beginning to realize the gravity of the situation he was in. Ironic, considering he seemed to be defying gravity itself, and before he knew it, he was pulled skyward. 'Aliens,' he thought. 'There just had to be aliens. Wait 'til Crocker hears this one. Of course, he won't be hearing jack shit if I don't make it back.' Yes, 'the Unknown' was truly an enigma, not even understood by the host himself.

After a moment's consideration, the Mojave's resident badass uttered one final statement before disappearing into the blinding light that engulfed the sky.

"...I've dealt with worse Tuesdays than this."******

_And the Wasteland never heard from him again._

* * *

Footnotes

* - While much of the Courier's life remains a mystery to those around him, most have come to a consensus: wherever he walked, one could find one of two things: a smoldering crater littered with fresh corpses, or what was probably (hopefully) a practical joke. Before his time in the Mojave, such occurrences were unheard of. Obviously no one had the balls to bad mouth Caesar's Legion in their own camp. No one had even seen those odd, religious** hand grenades in Searchlight until he stepped through the door. Because of the unpredictable nature of his presence alone, 'the Unknown' was always a listed threat whenever the Courier was present.

** - There were few occurrences where the two were not synonymous, both in the present and in the Old World. If one were to make a Bible for, say, a cult of ghouls, and the Courier's role in that cult, one may think to worship such a kind-hearted being. Someone who has been keeping up with current events in the Mojave would describe you as 'odd' for doing this. Anyone who had seen the Courier's work would report you to the Followers for fear of a mental instability.

*** - Many brilliant minds who looked back on this time period would say this was one of the Republic's wisest decisions during its conquest of the Midwest. After all, the Courier was the greatest threat to both friend and foe as long as he was in the same state.

**** - Those same minds also considered its focus on the Legion to be the Republic's worst mistake, for the same reason stated above.

***** - Thankfully, for whatever reason, the use of nails hadn't traveled far past the Divide, even after two centuries. Of course, trying to nail something down in the sand would only cost you some of those precious, exotic nails when your property is inevitably uprooted from its spot.

****** - Six found it pretty difficult to beat 'that one time he got shot in the head', after all.

* * *

**AN: And so the begins the tale of a man, cold on the exterior (drunken rambling notwithstanding) but a tragic wreck within. Of course, you'd only know that if you were to continue reading and I stopped talking about it. So, without further delay, I shall humbly ask for feedback on my first story. For you are my audience, and I am nothing without you.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Match Made in Space

**AN: I'm finally back with chapter two, only a few days behind schedule. To make up for it, I chose to merge chapter 3 into this one. The new chapter 3 is currently in the editing stage, and I already have plans for when I start writing chapter 4, so look out for updates on them in the next couple of days.**

**The author does not own the rights to Fallout or RWBY, which are owned by Bethesda and Roosterteeth, respectively. No profit is made from this story.**

* * *

_Some men are destined to walk their paths alone. Others have the ones they can rely on to keep them moving. And some men cross paths in the most interesting of places._

* * *

When the Courier finally came to on the cold, metal floor, his first thoughts were on to how drafty the cell was. It was, after all, a noticeable contrast to the hot, dry desert he had grown accustomed to over time. After trying, and failing, to sit up, he couldn't help but imagine the possibility that some crazy bastard may have accidentally given Cook-Cook life again, perhaps in the form of some kind of undead cyborg abomination,* because _god __did__ his ass hurt._** However, it didn't take long for Six to remember his encounter with the pyro-slash-rapist, and he came to the conclusion that the odds of bringing _that_ back to life were almost as small as the amount of Cook-Cook still in the wasteland, i.e. a red smear on the pavement.

Since he couldn't exactly investigate his surroundings, or the even figure out the cause of his discomfort, while still face down on the ground, he shakily brought himself to his feet, wincing every couple seconds. Then he realized it was_ really _cold in the cell, and froze when he caught sight of his right arm gripping onto the wall.***

The dark brown fabric was absent from his appendage. His long coat, the one that had served him for more than half a year, was no longer on his person. Even more important was the small arsenal he kept stashed inside the confines of the coat**** had been stripped from him. It only seemed to get worse when he looked to his reflection in the metal walls; all that remained on his body was his pip-boy and some pieces from his veteran ranger outfit, including the jeans, long-sleeved gray undershirt, boots, and black gloves. 'As if it couldn't get worse. No helmet, no body armor, not even my holdout weapons.' Even as he gazed at his own face, he could not recognize it; the old ranger helmet had been obscuring it far too long. Six didn't like what he saw, immediately turning away.

Finally managing to work up the strength to stand up without the wall's support, he turned himself to evaluate his surroundings. There wasn't much for him to work with in the small room; some kind of force field blocked the exit, akin the ones in Big Mountain. But some object, resting on the ground in the darkest corner, caught his eye. Could it be? Did his captors leave behind some valuable resource that could save his very life? it was much too small to be any kind of a rifle, but its appearance didn't seem to match any of the useless scrap he kept with him. He slowly made his way to the corner, silently praying for his sonic emitter, or perhaps an industrial fist to cut through the walls. And he could not be any more disappointed.

He stood up and held Motor-Runner's helmet at arm's length with disdain, as if the Fiend's head-wear was irradiated. "They left me with this piece of shit? Well if you wanted to torture me, job well done, assholes! I can't even remember I was treated this cruelly." Even when he was captured and nearly devoid of all equipment, the god-awful helmet always managed to find its way into his inventory. Despite the fact that it saved his life more than a few times at the Sierra Madre alone, the Courier continued to try to get rid of it, but to no avail. Ignoring its existence was his only option. Except for moments like this. As he inspected it more closely, he discovered that the rebreather was jammed inside. "But of-fucking-course. Why not? I'm sure this'll help me _in space,_" he finished with a hiss.

Begrudgingly strapping the bone-themed head-wear and face mask onto himself, he began pacing around his cell, coming up with escape plans that he'd label as 'useless'. "Now if I say I'm having a heart attack, they'll bring medicine and I'll be set to go... no, they probably don't even talk like me. But what if I just- ugh, damn it! Where's a C-finder when you need one?" Finally at a loss, he ceased his plotting by the sealed doorway, now noticing a lone figure standing on the other side.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"...Are you just gonna stand there? I don't plan on waiting around here much longer."

The other man chuckled at this, then activated the door controls to let Six out. "Are you always this rude when somebody saves you, or am I getting special treatment?" Now that the hazy barrier was down, the Courier was able to take notice of the massive, blocky armor the newcomer wore. It was unlike any that he'd seen in the wasteland, not counting some of the pre-war propaganda he came across. Finally his eyes stopped at the helmet.

"...That looks stupid."

The second man laughed again before handing the Courier a silenced 10mm pistol and a few clips. The two then started to walk down the hall side by side. "I guess I can't argue with that. The eyes do look a bit ridiculous, but I can't deny how durable it is. Besides," he gestured to the Courier's head, stifling a laugh, "at least I'm not some bone head like you."

The less clothed of the duo turned his head slowly to his left, the scowl quite visible on his face between the helmet and rebreather. "...Does your mother know you make shitty jokes like that? She'd be ashamed."

The armored figure frowned under his helmet at the insult. "You know, that hurt a bit."

Instead of commenting further, Six continued to look at the man's dark armor, the gears in his head turning. There was something familiar about the dark plates and the alien-looking eyes. Finally, he snapped his fingers. "Enclave."

The other jerked his head toward the speaker. "What?"

Immediately the desert survivalist's carefree demeanor was gone, either due to the intoxication wearing off, because of present company, or a combination of both. "That armor. It's Enclave armor, isn't it? Looks different from what I've heard seen though. Like a prototype, or those pre-war propaganda posters. What's the deal?"

"Oh, yeah. It's Enclave armor alright."

Six didn't exactly know much about the Enclave. The Remnants he'd met through Arcade seemed like decent folk, but, well... he'd heard the stories from the west coast. Tales of tribes disappearing and a man twice the size of a mutant who could kill deathclaws with his hands. There were probably some exaggerations, but this new arrival could still be trouble. "You didn't answer. Why do you have Enclave armor? Not a lot of people these days know about them anymore. Even fewer can wear power armor." Even though his mouth had shut, his mind was still racing. Was it possible this man wasn't from the wasteland? It seemed inconceivable that he could be from before the war, and he sure as hell didn't sound like a ghoul. Then again, just a few hours ago (was it hours? How long was he out anyway?) he didn't think aliens could exist. Now look at where he was. But could he really be a member of the pre-war Enclave? He decided to press on. "...Are you from the Old World?"

The mysterious man slowly came to a stop and seemed to be thinking before responding. "Well... I served at Anchorage."

"Served? So you were in the military? And what's Anchorage?"

"You see, Anchorage was the front lines during the Commie invasion." The dark figure stopped in his tracks, head tilted up in concentration. When the Courier didn't hear the soldier continue, he turned to face him. Wait... did the other guy always have a pip-boy? Before he could ask, the soldier began to speak again. "After a mission led by General Chase himself, I was enlisted into a secret project that was testing a new type of power armor. My family got a spot in a vault for my work in the project, as you can see here." he gestured to his left arm. "Unfortunately, I didn't quite make it back in time. You can probably guess why." He stood and waited for the Courier to respond.

As for Six, well, he didn't get it so much. As if all the talk about communists, Anchorage, and secret military projects wasn't confusing enough, he still had no reason to trust this man. The odds that this was all made up on the spot seemed pretty high to him. On the other hand, he'd most likely still be stomping around that cell, or worse, if his savior hadn't come along when he did. Besides, he liked to believe he knew how to read people and this man didn't show signs of lying, even if the Courier couldn't see his face. There was confidence in his words as he retold the story, no signs of uncertainty. Besides, no one was stupid enough to make up some elaborate war background from scratch, right? This man obviously knew more about the war than anyone Six had ever met. He made his decision, holding his hand out to his new ally. "Well, let's see if we can't get back down there."

Taking his hand, and giving it a firm shake, the veteran said, "Good. Lord knows I won't rest 'till those commie sons of bitches are back in China."

"See, about that... Humanity's kinda gone to shit since you left."

* * *

The two had spent hours traversing through the corridors of the massive mother-ship, gunning down hostile aliens and scavenging whatever they could find that seemed useful. Along the way, they had talked about their own respective military lives, battling against their own Reds. As they passed a window, rockets were seen tearing through the black void. Six followed their general direction, then realized they were way off the planned course. "Great, what the hell's going on there?"

"They look like a bit like RobCo rockets. Wonder who fired them, though."

"Well, that'd be me. Doesn't look like I did a good job of it, I guess, 'cause they shouldn't be anywhere near here."

The soldier brought a hand to the chin of his helmet. "Well, it's been more than two hundred years since anyone's touched the things. Did you check the targeting data? I mean, it's not likely the scientists were planning on launching them to the same place anyway." The Courier slammed a hand to his face. Why didn't he think of that? Oh, right. There was a lot on his mind right around then. As he brought his hand down, a blinding beam of energy engulfed all three rockets, disintegrating them immediately. His shoulders slumped slightly, just barely enough for his partner to notice. "You alright?"

Six turned away from the window, briskly walking toward the exit. He uttered a barely audible "Let's go" before turning the corner, disappearing out of sight without another word. The armored man sighed before jogging to the other.

* * *

It's happening again it's happening again god why did they have to die _why did I kill them? _I could have stopped it from happening and they would have been safe but they're not now and it's all my fault.

_How many more people do I have to kill? How many innocents is enough?! Do I have another purpose for being alive, or do I exist purely to kill and suffer?_

* * *

"It's weird though," mused the soldier, poking his fork into a can of beans. Not long after the destruction of the rockets, the two managed to find a safe place to establish a 'base camp' of sorts near the engineering core. "There are supposed to be frozen people in these. So where are they?"

"Yeah? And how would you know something like that, huh?" Just because they were working together didn't mean he trusted the other man, not by a long shot. The Courier decided he'd ask as many questions as possible and wait for the other to slip up. He took a seat against one of the pods. His rear was starting to ache again from all the walking.

"Well, before I came to your cell, I was looking around the ship. Found some audio logs, got to know the layout, that kind of stuff. I mean, someone's gotta know where we're going, right?"

"Uh huh, right." Despite Six's skepticism, the armored figure still seemed to be telling the truth yet again. He took another swig from the scotch he found on the journey to the core. It wasn't vodka, but it would work in a pinch. Hell, he'd drink just about anything that wasn't whiskey. He looked back up to the metal-clad man from his place on the floor. "So what exactly are we going, anyway?"

"Simple. Find the bridge, kill the captain, find a way back down to Earth. I'm sure a soldier could fit in at this desert wasteland you talk about, right?"

This plan didn't really make a whole lot of sense to the Courier. Why kill the captain? What would that even accomplish? It sounded as if he knew what he was doing, though, so Six didn't bother asking about it quite yet. He stood up, brushing the nonexistent dust off of his pants. "I hope you're not planning on going now. Maybe you forgot that I need some weapons too? This pistol is even weaker than the normal 10 mils I usually find, if that's even possible. You told me we'd be getting my weapons soon!"

"Hey, it may suck, but maybe you've noticed how durable it is? You don't have to fix it nearly as much as the ones you find in the wasteland."

"Yeah, I'll admit, it's pretty tough, but I'm not using this peashooter much longer, you hear?"

"I get it, I get it. What, feeling inadequate?" The Enclave soldier brandished the Gauss Rifle he had been using throughout the ship. "No need to feel bad, lots of other guys get just as jealous around me."

Can we just shut up and go already? I kind of have someplace to be right now. Nations to save and all that. I'm sure you understand." He pushed himself up and collected the other bottles of scotch he managed to scrounge on the way.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sure you're so busy fighting for California, being a family man, all that crap."

"Do I seem like the kind of guy to raise a family? ...Hey, now that I think about it, you haven't even told me about yours yet. Aren't you a bit young for that kind of thing anyway?"

This caused the soldier to stutter. "W-w-what do you mean, 'young'? You don't know what I look like!"

"The helmet may muffle it, but I can hear it in your voice. And then there's the way you act. How many jolly old guys do you meet in the army? You're about as green as it gets, at least if you ignore the weapons training."

"Yeah well... you're old!"

"You're mature. And avoiding the question."

The teen crossed his arms, turning away indignantly. "I don't need some geezer asking about my personal life. What are you, 30? Go figure this stuff out yourself!"

The courier ignored his squabbling and began strolling toward a door he saw on his way in. "Whatever, I'm gonna go get something done. Join me if you want to actually get off this thing." He pressed the button and stepped through the door.

When the armored man glanced toward Six, he immediately panicked once again. "Not that door, that's the-" It shut before he could finish. "-air lock... Oh boy."

* * *

Given that he had no real knowledge of space, the Courier was quite surprised at how quiet it was. So far, he hated it. He also didn't expect it to be so cold, or that it would suck him right out of the ship the moment the door opened. Now he was drifting through the void, and suddenly it was hot. Way too hot. Six spun himself around and immediately regretted this decision, as he was met with a blinding view of the sun. Trying, and failing, to cover the bare skin on his face, all he could do was writhe in pain and wonder whether he'd die from the heat or the suffocation first. It felt like an eternity was passing as his breath left his body. He could almost feel the fire scorching, melting the skin of his bones. In minutes his struggling ceased and he continued to drift in the black emptiness. Even as he blacked out, though, he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt and drag him back into the ship.

Not a very good first impression of space at all.

* * *

_"...ell were you thinking? You coulda been..."_

_"...'ve dragged deathclaws lighter than you, Jesu..."_

"...ou even listening? Wake the fuck up!"

Courier Six found him leaning against the same pod, unable to stand and barely awake. "Alright, not so loud..."

"'Not so loud'?! You probably got skin cancer just from going out there! Why the hell didn't you just stay put?"

"No, see... you're getting louder. That's what I wasn't asking for."

The teen crossed his arms and huffed in frustration. "I told you already, I know way more about this place than you do. Now for the love of god, don't move! I'm going to go find some medicine before you get yourself killed again."

As the clomping of the boots faded, the Courier heard him mutter about how 'the last group of escapees weren't nearly this bad'. Unable to stay awake any longer, he felt his eyelids slowly close as he drifted to sleep.

* * *

A needle dove straight into his leg, emptying its contents into his body. After cracking his eyes open for a glance, Six saw his hand wrapped around the syringe, pumping the psycho through his bloodstream. His body suddenly tensed, jaw clenching and unclenching, over and over. His eyes looked ready to burst from the sockets as he growled. "...Tell me more about those 'deathclaws' you know so much about. Or your past experiences with the fragile wasteland firearm. How about it buddy?" His voice was raising in volume, body quivering in anger. "Let me guess, escaped with some 'pod people', huh? I'll bet that was a blast!" He began shouting at full volume at this point. "Get back here you son of a bitch! **You lied to me!** I trusted you and _this_ is what I get?"

He stumbled to his feet, barely standing, but keeping a death grip on the pistol in his hand. 'I'm gonna get my damn answers.' He walked away from their settlement, ignoring the extra bottles of alcohol they had found, because there were two things that took precedence over booze: drug frenzies and revenge. '_Nobody gets away from number Six._'

* * *

Always eager to wreak havoc on his enemies, the Courier took another shot from the vast quantity of drugs he scavenged on the ship. What was this one again? Slasher? Rebound? Bad rad-away? He was beginning to lose track of what he put in his body; he was probably already hooked on just about anything you could find in the Mojave. After hours of wandering, there was still no sign of the 'Enclave soldier' from before. Only alien corpses littered the halls of the ship, leaking green fluid from their cracked skulls. From what he could tell, he was approaching some kind of storeroom. That, or he would have to weaponize the massive boxes he saw through the window, because these bruises were _really _starting to hurt. When he stepped through the door, though, he knew: he just hit the jackpot.

There, on the opposite wall, hung his tattered NCR coat in all it's glory. The very one that always stuck by him on his journey, through thick, thin, and Gomorrah.***** He slowly crept toward it, and he couldn't believe it; a good quarter of his weapons still lined the insides, many more than he expected to find in one place. And the ammo, the medicine, some of it still remained! Six quickly retrieved his armor and weapons from the storage containers and even found a few extra clips of... whatever the alien blaster used. Now armed, somewhat sober, and ready to break more heads, he left the room and continued his hunt. Not all of his equipment was accounted for and he was damned if he would take on the captain while not fully armed. But now he had the advantage against his captors. Back into the endless halls for him.

He didn't exactly have a plan on how to find his weapons, or the metal man, and he probably backtracked along the halls more than a few times in his drug-induced haze. All the damn walls looked the same... except this one. In the wall, it looked like some kind if garbage chute. Of course, it seemed perfectly logical the junkie to make his exit here. 'Well hey, I make most of my money lookin' through scrap, right?' His belongings were likely scattered throughout the entire ship, so the more ground covered, the better. After injecting a shot of med-x, he clumsily crawled into the small compartment, diving head first into the disposal area.

* * *

A campfire. Of all the places to land, it had to be a lit campfire. Sure, there were more painful fires he'd been in, but that mean it didn't "hurt like a mother". It took a few seconds to roll the fire into submission, and the rusty scrap metal all over the floor certainly didn't make for a comfortable resting place afterwards. The Courier, of course, was already tough-as-pointy-metal-bits-from-the-Divide, and yanked the rusted scraps from his shoulder and back.

The camp seemed to have been made just recently, if the fire was anything to go by. Did this mean there were others on this ship? The people from the pods, maybe? Or was it _h__im_? ? His suspicions were soon confirmed in the form of that 'stupid-ass helmet' sitting next to a dirty bedroll. Already feeling his frustration rising once again, the strung out man charged forward and punted the helmet further into the depths of trash. Just as he was leaving the camp to set up an ambush, he seemed to clumsily trip over his own feet. Growling, Six turned his body so he could lay face up as he tried to sort his own legs out. "Asshole isn't even here as he's mocking me. When I find him so help me god..."

The Courier soon learned that he didn't trip on 'nothing' like he had originally thought. In fact, it was quite something he had around his ankles. He sat up, bending forward to reach for the intrusive bindings.

"How fitting. A stealth suit in with the rest of the garbage on this ship." Bunching the suit into a ball, he prepared to throw it over his shoulder and continue his planning. Before he managed to execute the toss, however, it appeared to have disappeared from his grasp. But as he clenched his hands, the smooth fabric was still present. The light bulb in his head went off, and a crooked grin spread itself across his face. "...This is just too good." What was the fun in an ambush, anyway? It would be far more enjoyable to humiliate him. Six brought his own folded Chinese armor from the inside of the brown coat, tossing it on the floor near the spot he had fallen. "Too bad I won't be there to see him on his knees when he dies. NCR's really taking up all my free time. Maybe I'll ask for some time off when I get back. If they haven't already slit their throats, anyway." He brought yet another bottle of scotch out of his jacket pocket, lamenting over the fact that he didn't go back for the rest when he had a chance. The rest'll be long gone by the time he reaches the captain, so his homecoming will _not_ be a pretty one. 'Hope the Republic's ready to cover this one up, too.' It would be an understatement to say his relations with the public were strained.

"Well, no time like the present. Let's roll." The Courier strode towards the nearest teleporter, cracking the top portion off his bottle with the help of a nearby wall. Chug. Down went a quarter of the bottle in seconds. He weaved around the piles of junk, occasionally tossing a frag grenade over his shoulder and into the dark, just in case the Enclave boy had been near. Finally, he stumbled into the first teleporter he saw, and immediately regretted not closing his eyes as he was engulfed in light.

* * *

Disoriented by the light tunnel surrounding him, the Courier staggered out of the teleportation matrix, somehow staying on his feet. his hands rested on his knees and he was just about ready to heave the massive amount of alcohol he consumed, but managed to swallow it back down. Generally, he tried to keep the inside of his helmet bile-free and had done a surprisingly good job of it so far. Six took a few deep breaths before straightening himself, giving him a better view of his location. All around him, he saw...

Ships. _Tons_ of them. The hanger was swarming with aliens and drones alike, all going about their business. If this was what the soldier had in mind...

"No way in hell."

Then the Courier was out. He immediately spun on his heel, turning back to the teleporter platform. Courier Six didn't do ships. "Not after Kimball, anyway." Chug.

At this point, he was just about ready to give up on locating the rest of his gear. A majority of the weapons were completely unnecessary, only kept as a method for stave off boredom in the Mojave. Before he could continue his thoughts, the Courier stepped onto another teleporter, transferring him to a mostly unlit room. He gazed up into the wildly fluctuating blue glow high above him. After a good minute of oggling the light, he finally snapped out of his daze to the sound of dozens of beasts, growling hungrily.

"...Balls."

Glug glug.

* * *

Footnotes:

* - Many of his long nights were spent hunched over a cracked Radiation King television set watching bad sci-fi holotapes, much to Arcade's dismay. Some say his science skill still suffers to this day because the poorly written plots, never to return to its former glory.

** - He seemed to be in too much of a daze to remember one of the essentials when it came to cheesy alien movies; the probes. However, he wasn't in too much of a daze to reinvent the chastity belt. His only regrets were that there was no one to take the idea back to the wasteland, and that he hadn't thought of it before going unconscious.

*** - After his first, and only, trip to the Legion-controlled Nelson, many other wastelanders had asked what exactly happened to his arm. The Courier never seemed to acknowledge the question, however, or even the fact that he had visited the town in the first place. The only other non-Legion man to walk back out of Nelson had died soon after, and no one else in the Mojave was willing to test their luck that much.

**** - Even with the unpredictable nature of the Unknown, Six found that he could always rely on his natural ability to hide damn near anything in his clothes. Even he didn't dare reach too far into the darkness, though, for none knew what lie in such places. He was just afraid at the possibility of a cazador nest, for the most part.

***** - No matter how brief the visit, the Courier always found some kind of fluid in his clothes by the time he reached the doors. Dry cleaning was quickly reintroduced to society simply to ensure the Mojave remained intact. A dirty Courier was not a happy one.

* * *

**AN: To those of you waiting, I will confirm that, yes, he does in fact get to Remnant eventually. A good story needs time to develop properly. Since it's my story though, I can't really be considered reliable in judging whether it's good or not. But I get points for trying, right?**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Gone From This Place

**AN: After a looking through and editing a couple (dozen) times and beginning chapter 4, I'm done with this one. Now for the responses.**

**Spockify: Details about the Courier (age, appearance, background, and the events during F:NV) will eventually be revealed over the course of the story. I wanted the information to be new to the reader, other characters, and occasionally Six himself when it's first disclosed.**

**Raptor010: Even though you didn't have much to say, and at the risk of sounding cheesy as hell, I'd like to thank you for the review. Really, though, seeing that review counter (or any of them actually) go up genuinely makes me feel good and encourages me to write faster. Lord knows I need it.**

**...I don't have to keep posting the disclaimer, right? Even the most destitute of Freeside junkies wouldn't bother robbing me.**

* * *

_Luke 24:50-53_

_The Ascension_

_Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them._

_While he blessed them, he parted from them and was carried up into heaven.  
_

_And they worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy,_

_and were continually in the temple blessing God._

* * *

"Get back here you son of a bitch!"

'Ooooh shit.' The wastelander had barely managed to make it ten feet from his companion before the screaming started. Keeping his body flat against the wall, as if it would hide him more effectively, he took off the astronaut helmet he had been wearing and silently prayed that the Courier would not come his way. 'What the hell is he doing awake already? I didn't think he'd actually survive that!' Around the corner, he heard the Courier's ranting continue, but was too lost in his thoughts to pay attention. 'In any case, I got sloppy. It will _not_ be pretty if I run into him again. Better keep a low profile while I'm on the ship.' The aggressive stomping around the corner finally began to disappear into the distance, and he finally exhaled the breath he had been holding. Cautiously, he crept toward the nearest teleportation matrix, exiting the core.

* * *

His journey for the next few hours was, in fact, relatively quiet; occasionally, there would be a group of hostile aliens or a dead end. Nothing to frustrating, even after all of the time spent wandering the halls.

Now the soldier found himself hunkered down underneath a mountain of scrap, surrounded by the booming of hand grenades. Flashes of light sprang out across the dimly lit room, briefly allowing him to catch a glimpse of the other man. When the grenades stopped, all that was visible was the burning glow of his red eyes, turning gaze from side to side as he scoured the room. "I-it's not 'cause I'm scared of him, of course. I've been through Old Olney, for god's sake! Yeah, I could take him no pro-" The crimson glow halted its search. Pointing at his exact spot. He dare not move a muscle, his breathing froze immediately, waiting for the cloaked man to make his move. Sweat trickled down his exposed face while the other simply continued to stare him down. 'This is it. I'm gonna die lying in this rusty junk pile _oh god he's moving!"_ Slowly, the helmet turned away before the lone figure marched toward the exit, the cacophony of detonations following him.

The soldier didn't make a sound as he rushed through the mounds of trash, finally arriving back at his camp. The first thing that caught his eye was the campfire: the fire had been extinguished while he had been scavenging,* and embers seemed to have been scattered around the entire area. Aside from that, everything looked to be in order. Ready to set out again, he collected the few belongings he had left in the settlement. "Let's see, stealth suit, leopard pj's, bedroll, and finally, my-" The Hellfire helmet was absent from its place by the makeshift tent. The pieces to the puzzle came together as he realized the Courier had come from this location.

Immediately, the young man hopped up from his spot, switched his pip-boy light on, and hurriedly began tearing through the garbage that surrounded him. 'Shit shit shit **shit shit god no!** What kind of an asshole just takes a guy's helmet like that? If he knew how expensive that helmet was...There better be something else around here... shoulda killed him when I had the chance.'

* * *

After the countless hours spent wading through trash, the soldier began his trek to the bridge, dented helmet dangling off of a belt loop. 'Guy's got a hell of a kick, messing up power armor like this. Course, all the bones in his foot are probably dust at this point, but... I'm not even mad. I'm impressed.' One teleport later, he found himself just around the corner of his objective. Then he teleported back. 'Well... guess I'm close then.' One by one, he shed the black metal pieces of the Hellfire armor, placing them into the green military duffle bag he carried with him. Finally, he unfolded his personal favorite: his Chinese stealth armor. Holding it closer, he realized something seemed wrong about it. "Huh. I thought it was a bit more dinged up than this." Shrugging, he slid the dark jumpsuit on, hefted the bag over his shoulder, then proceed through the matrix once again. The plan was simple now that he was alone and ready: 'Chinese stealth', sneak into the room, then stick them all with his shocksword. Unfortunately, without the others, it was unlikely that he wold activate the homing beacon as easily as the last time. Only a minor setback, of course, but a setback nonetheless, and he wanted to be as far away from that... _demon_ as possible, as soon as possible. Crouching low to the ground, he silently crept toward the captain, as his firearm was the most dangerous.

What he did not realize is that he did not 'Chinese stealth' as he had planned. While he had kept quiet, he was still very visible to the crew, who had simply stared in disbelief.** Before getting a chance to draw the sword from his belt, the captain turned around, looking straight into the soldier's eyes. Both froze. 'Does he see me? No, I'm cloaked, he can't see jack-' The captain drew his Sidearm, taking aim at the dark figure. "Shit he sees me!" He sprang to his left, narrowly avoiding his fate as a pile of ash on the floor. He darted around the bridge, leaping over obstacles and ducking under energy beams, all the while attempting to equip the parts of his Enclave power armor one by one. All this managed to accomplish was the scattering of the armor pieces to the edges of the room, and the teen was in no rush to return for them. He burst through the doorway and turned the corner, waiting for the first enemy to follow him.

'I don't get it. _I just don't understand. _The stealth ability was fine when I left it in the-' The waste disposal area. It finally made sense to him. Why the armor was malfunctioning, why it looked so unused. His jaw slowly clenched in hatred as he thought of the Courier, no longer fearful of the despised Red Gaze. There was one piece of equipment that he held closer to his heart than all others...

"...When I find him, so help me god..."

...his stealth suit. And he would go through hell and back for it.

* * *

"I knew the rest of this shithole was bad, but... _this... _this is just a monorail wreck waiting to happen." Sighing, Six tossed the now empty scotch bottle over his shoulder, stepping onto the balcony that overlooked the massive chamber.

This had to be the largest indoor space he had ever seen, dwarfing even the Fortification Hill Securitron bunker by comparison. The Courier wasn't worried about the size, though; hundreds, possibly thousands of cages piled high in the space ahead of him, many filled with the wide variety of deadly creatures that inhabited the Wasteland. He could make out enormous deathclaws, terrifying yao guai, mutated, centaurs, the list went on. There were even some monsters he didn't recognize; giant white scorpions, mutated bags of gas with teeth, and round, eyeless heads on thin legs being just a few of the strange abominations. The wastelander didn't like this place one bit.***

"Well... no one'd be stupid enough to just keep a bunch of wild animals, right? There's probably some convenient kill switch if I just find a terminal somewhere, no problem." The issue with that non-problem was the fact that, aside from the multitude of crates, there was nothing to be seen from his place on the balcony. The room was barren where he was standing, and his surroundings were too dark to see what lie beyond the threshold. "Sure as hell not willing to find out what's over there, either." There didn't seem to be any sort of light source present, active or otherwise, other than the dim blue that shone down from above. As Six looked up, all he could see was the pinprick of light, as well as a myriad of crossing walkways that led to the unseen ceiling. "...Ah Christ." Figuring it to be his best option at discovering the source of the mystery light, not to mention safer than staying on the ground floor, he uncorked a bottle of wine and trudged to the nearest stairway, beginning his Ascension.

* * *

'This is getting a bit ridiculous.'

It had been no more than three minutes since the shooting began, but to the young soldier, it felt more like three hours. He sighed as he looked down at his apparel; on top of the second-rate stealth armor was the few scraps of Hellfire armor he managed to not lose in the bridge. His boots, left arm plating, right shoulder, and back plate were all that remained, not counting the dented helmet still attached to his belt. The now-deactivated shocksword rested in his loose grip as he slid into a sitting position, turning his attention to the wall opposite from him. Blue energy flew out of the doorway next to him and into the formerly-pristine metal, leaving it black and charred. Sighing once again, he turned his head to the right, past the stray pistol-fire. His gaze halted on the teleportation matrix he had used to enter the room, just barely out of his reach. As long as those aliens were firing, he wouldn't make it to the other side of the doorway without disintegrating, and they didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

'Just how much ammo do they have in there anyway?'

Given the fact that these aliens were advanced enough to build these massive ships capable of space travel, and in such a quantity, it only seemed logical that the bridge's window would be bulletproof. What kind of society didn't have bulletproof surfaces? The more he thought about it, though, the more his mind seemed to hate that thought. The aliens didn't even have bullets, after all, and he was well aware of the difference between guns and energy weapons. So he decided to play it safe and wait until they were within stabbing range, which didn't seem to be a very effective plan at all.

"Now, if I had my stealth armor, we could already be back in the wasteland. This is what I get for trying to help him, isn't it?" Just thinking about the Courier made his blood start to boil. Normally the teen was as calm as could be, but this other man was _really_ beginning to get on his nerves. It was his fault they were still on this thing! "If he wasn't so busy sabotaging my shit... _And then there's these fucking aliens!" _He finally snapped. Before he realized what he was doing, the black-clad man chucked a live grenade around the corner. The small explosive flew into the room, bouncing against the walls and floor before rolling to a stop by the navigational center.

The crew members all ceased fire, turning to watch the green and black orb in fear. The wastelander, on the other hand, curled up into the fetal position and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the detonation. After a pause, he cautiously opened his eyes and leaned around the corner. At that moment there was a surreal peace, a unity between man and the normally hostile extraterrestrials as both desperately hoped for the grenade to be a dud. Even the one-sided firefight was preferable to this. Sadly, Fate**** had a way of tormenting its victims quite creatively, bending logic to its whim to make them as hopeful as possible before tearing them down. The explosion tore into the machine, destroying it immediately.

* * *

Maneuvering the catwalk was already a difficult task for the inebriated Courier, but now it seemed the ship's walls were beginning to sway side to side, and he knew it wasn't just because of the alcohol. "What, pilots can't even...*hic* do their damn job now? Heh, or maybe that jackass fell in the engine. Imagine that." Slowly, he was nearing the glass of blue static that had drawn his attention. Something about it was so familiar, but his blurred vision prevented a clear image at this distance.

Taking slow, sloppy steps, he finally reached the uppermost catwalk. All dead ends had been explored, and all the paths led to this one location. Nearing the far end, he took slow, deliberate steps. In shadows of the chamber's corner, almost thirty feet from him, a group of silhouettes was barely visible to Six. He flicked the pip-boy light on, stretching his arm out illuminate the corner while maintaining distance from the mystery items. He was met with the sight of a small, wooden table, identical to every one he'd encountered in the Wasteland, accompanied by a matching chair. A deactivated terminal rested on the surface, next to a lone pair of binoculars.

He dropped to his knees in disbelief as he continued to stare at the screen. "Did I just... Why? _Why why why did this happen?_ I deserve a lot of the shit I get, but... _is this really justified?"_ Six stayed like that for a few moments, wondering if he should bother accessing the terminal or just shoot it out of frustration. Whatever was on there was extremely unlikely that whatever the computer possessed would be worth the time or the anxiety, but he already made the journey, so there was no reason not to. Besides, the animals below began to sound even more restless, and the Courier was in no rush to return to them. He shakily got back onto his feet, using the railings as support.**  
**

His left boot clomped heavily onto the metal surface, then the other, then the left once again. Suddenly, his movements stopped, and his now-rigid body turned to his right, toward the edge. It finally sank in just how high he was as he peered over the low guard rail. The chamber appeared bottomless, the floor hidden under a thick layer of shadows. What would happen, he wondered, if he just... fell? Would he hit the bottom and die? Would it be that simple? Of course not, it never was. He would survive, and he would be mauled by the numerous predators lurking below, waiting for him. But he would live through that, too, because the Courier always managed to come through, whether he wanted to or not. Such was the nature of the Sisyphean struggle that was his life, always having to endure Hell itself when victory was just out of reach.

He leaned further over the edge, stretched one leg over the rail, then the other. From where he stood, all that was visible was the collection of walkways... and the black void. There was no doubt in his mind that, if he fell, he would find himself face to face with that enormous fireball again. _Sol._ Already he could feel the heat from its scrutinizing gaze boiling the flesh off of his bones, burning its image into his sockets. He squirmed in pain, he couldn't stand it any longer!

Stretching his arms to his sides, he fell forward into the darkness, unaware of the faint _"Yes"_ that hissed in the back of his mind. Nothing was able to stop his descent as he plummeted to the ground; the other catwalks were out of his reach, and would likely rip his arm clean off if he attempted to grab one. As he fell, it all returned to his sight; the small stairway, the teleporter, the boxes, all of which he could see clearly, as if time itself had come to a halt. Seconds turned into minutes as Courier Six took it all in, observing his surroundings. His eyes stopped on the figure lying face down on the ground, arms outstretched. Clad in a long, brown coat, burning red eyes... it was _his_ corpse he was looking at. He stood, emotionless at the sight in front of him, watching as crimson flowed freely from underneath the cold body...

He clutched the guard rail even tighter, ignoring the hiss of laughter echoing in his head. Heights always got to him like this. Six tore the helmet from his face, threw it to his side, and emptied his stomach over the edge. Somehow, the discarded ranger helmet did not roll off the edge, much to his relief. He stepped back from the edge, staying in the dead center of the thin walkway, before dropping and bringing his knees up by his face. The Courier sat like that for a few minutes, arms tight around his legs, lost in thought.

'I-i-it wouldn't be so bad living here, I guess," he sobbed. "I-I've got tons of duct tape. Maybe I could j-just block the gaps with some of the bigger rifles and then _never move again ever..._ That'd be nice." He wiped the tears off his face. The more he thought about it, the more appealing life on his catwalk sounded. He'd be left with no responsibilities, no fights, nothing but peaceful, quiet days to himself. Left alone with his own memories, his thoughts...His regrets... 'No, that wouldn't be nice at all.'

The Courier reached behind him, then snatched the helmet from the ground and strapped it onto his head. Clutching the railings to his sides, he lifted himself to his feet and continued to walk. It couldn't have been more that fifteen feet away now, but the closer he looked, and the faster he moved, the further the walkway seemed to stretch, as if trying to escape his grasp. "I am _way_ to sober to be doing this. I'm probably gonna have a heart attack before I make it over there. Well, if I could..." The room was swaying erratically as the Courier continued to stumble towards the monitor, and after an eternity of suspense, he was at the set up. Something felt... off, though. Six realized this terminal was _very_ out of place here.

"What the hell is a human terminal doing on this ship? Did someone else manage to get up here before me? I swear if I find out it's that guy again..." Without any further delay, he flipped the terminal around, checking the paneling for rigged explosives. Satisfied, he booted up the terminal, easily getting through the lock screen. "'Science', huh? Hell of an imagination you've got," he grumbled. A list of commands appeared on the monitor, most of which consisted of 'Release Specimen A-1', 'Release Specimen A-2', and so on. The Courier thought back to the cages below him. "Something tells me they're not gonna need it." The final selection caught his attention, though: 'Activate Transportalponder Prototype'.

"Wait, Big Empty stuff? What the hell's this doing here?" He paused, completely unmoving, before slamming a gloved hand to his armored forehead with a resounding 'clang!' "What the fuck have I been doing this whole time?" Reaching deep into his coat pocket, he searched for his own portable BMTT. "Damn it, don't tell me they took that too! Just my luck-" Before Six could finish his grumbling, the ship's rocking returned, even more powerful than before. Struggling to steady himself, his hands slammed into the terminal's keyboard, unknowingly activating the prototype. As the ship-rocking and keyboard-slamming continued, a second page revealed itself on the screen, this time with two options: 'Transportalponder Log: Entry One' and 'Reallocate Transportalponder Coordinates'. Once again, the Courier was oblivious to his button pressing as he fought to stay on the narrow walkway. After a few moments of erratic key-mashing, the latter was finally selected, one final message was displayed on the monitor:

WARNING: PLEASE READ ENTRY LOG ONE BEFORE REALLOCATING COORDINATES. CONTINUE?

-YES

NO

This last slam almost finished the terminal, and likely would have if it wasn't flung off the table first. The gravity on the ship was finally starting to fail, throwing objects all around the massive chamber. Cages, and even some of the animals, had found their way up near the Courier's place on the catwalk. A cazador's stare bore right into his helmet. He glared back, appearing menacing as possible, even though was actually about ready to piss himself. Before he got the chance, he, too, was flung from the walkway, and into the wall furthest from the teleporter he arrived in. The hard surface caught him before he began to slide to the ground. Fortunately for Six, the malfunctioning gravity kept him pressed into the wall, slowing his skid enough to survive the trip to the bottom.

While he may have been surprised to see the steel floor where it belonged, he was even more amazed at the machine that awaited him. A great, almost sparkling metal frame rested on a platform, standing tall. It must have been twenty-five, maybe thirty feet tall, and almost as wide. The great glass tube was now mounted onto the side of the frame, though it no longer contained its usual blue sparks. What he saw inside the glass was nothing short of mesmerizing. It was unlike anything he had seen in the Wasteland, at least while he was sober.**  
**

The electricity remained in the container, but was rapidly cycling through a series of colors. At first, they were indiscernible from one another, but as he looked closer he could tell them apart. Red. White. Black. Yellow. Red. White. Black. Yellow. The pattern continued on as the lightning danced, until the light began to shrink away. Six stood, waiting to see if the light show would continue. He turned around to face the exit on the far side of the room when suddenly the entire chamber was washed in light. his head swung back to catch a glimpse of the glass. On the left, he saw glowing indigo, and on the right, radioactive green. The two met together in the center of the glass, swirling to and fro, dodging each other before swirling into one another, finally resulting in a deafening 'pop!' A shiny silver powder swirled inside the tube like a snowglobe until finally the electric-blue light returned. The frame slowly filled with a blue, hazy light, spiraling inwards, alerting the Courier that it was now active.

"...Cryptic," he grumbled. The roars of the beasts surrounding him brought him out of his daze, and he turned back around to face the open space. Hundreds of the monsters' corpses littered the room, bruised and bloodied by the ship's movements, but many more were still alive and more pissed than ever. He didn't have a lot of time to make up his mind before he would be spotted. While pondering his dilemma, he caught sight of a pair of pale radscorpions tear a deathclaw apart. "Fuck that." Six looked over his shoulder at the cerulean-colored spiral. "_But fuuuuck that." _He faced the room one last time, withdrawing Sleepytyme from his coat. The gun itself was much too weak for some of the more dangerous predators here, but with the new stealth suit he should be able to cross the room without being detected. The Courier loaded a clip of hollow points into the 10mm submachine gun. Just as he was about to don the black suit, the ship jostled, sending an empty cage barreling into him. As he fell back through the portal, Six's only thought was, 'Damn shame. Had a one-liner****** and everything.' He shut his eyes as he flew back into the unknown.

* * *

Footnotes:

* - After his adventure through the last garbage disposal area, where he'd found his new 'stylish' overcoat, he swore that he would explore every junk pile he came across. No such luck had come to him since, the teen had maintained his annoyingly enthusiastic attitude, much to the annoyance of half of his comrades.

** - Had their mouths been functional at the time, and capable of speaking English, the soldier would have most likely heard a series of disbelieving 'Aw snap"s and "Oh no he didn't"s. After the destruction of two motherships, standards began to drop incredibly rapidly.

*** - Courier Six had come across dozens of caged animals during his time in the Mojave. Every single time, it would break out to attack him the moment his back was turned. The strange thing about it was that, upon investigating the cage, the door was always sealed and locked, even after the animal escaped. Ever since, he had a higher-than-average distrust of hissing boxes compared to the average Wasteland explorer, almost on the level of the legendary No-Bark himself.

**** - During his Wasteland wandering, the Courier reached a 'perfectly logical' conclusion that Fate is, in fact, a conscious being. "There's no way I could be _this_ unlucky by coincidence alone," he would reason. It wasn't a completely ridiculous thought, though; at times, the world seemed to go through downright absurd lengths to tease him, and didn't even appear to try hiding itself.***** Later on, he hypothesized that this 'death mark' of Fate's was contagious, as it managed to spread to just about every breathing thing he had come across. Either that, or Fate was an avid Legion Legion supporter, since it seemed to have perfected the 'I-will-kill-everyone-you-have-ever-cared-about' mentality.

***** - It's not every day you get mugged by three grannies, after all.

****** - More likely than not, it would have been on the topic of bubblegum and how he didn't have any on his person at the time. Sadly, this world will never know what his final words would have been.

* * *

**AN: It took about 11,000 words to reach this point, and let me say I've enjoyed every second of it. Anyway, keep an eye out for chapter 4, or as I call it, 'the chapter where shit actually gets crossed-over'.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: On Break, Back in Five  


**AN: Five weeks. It's been five weeks since our boys in power armor posted the last chapter, and started that plot chuggin'!**

**But seriously (all seriousness aside) I wanted to post this on schedule, but due to the mountain of schoolwork that came from nowhere I wasn't even able to start until Friday. And, of course, I'm going from one main character (who is already difficult enough to write the way I want) to nine characters (so now if I mess up they're personality, people will actually notice. No wonder people make OCs so much.) And then there's the dialogue, the action scenes, yadda yadda. So I've been writing and rewriting this 14 1/2 thousand word behemoth almost nonstop these past few days.**

**To sum it up: yeah, I've been slaving away like you wouldn't believe.**

**Warning: this chapter is more graphic in terms of violence/blood and gore. Another thing to mention is that it is told in a 'leap frog' style, showing events happening from the perspective of the students and the Courier.**

**If you read chapters 1-3, you would know that I own jack squat, so unless something comes up that isn't Fallout or RWBY, there will be no disclaimer in future chapters.**

* * *

**BIG MOUNTAIN X-21: ENTRY 1**

**October 11, 2065**

**All Big Mountain X-21 Researchers:**

**Due to recent complications (see below) the Big Mountain Transportalponder project has been suspended indefinitely. The X-21 facility will be shut down sometime later in the week; all progress is to be scraped, and all specified employees' contracts terminated. The list of employees will be posted in the mess hall at noon today.**

**Now that that's out of the way, I want some damn answers, or the rest of you are getting moved to X-22. Which genius thought to reset the machine? We lost eight testers this week before Simon noticed they weren't coming back to Big Mountain. The government isn't going to ignore this much longer if somebody doesn't take responsibility, and honestly I don't care whether or not the right man gets blamed, but I'll be damned if I let you morons ruin my reputation any further.**

**Signed,**

**Peter Ross, former Head Researcher of the X-21 facility**

* * *

Over the course of his journey, there were quite a few occasions where the Courier found himself falling asleep in one place, only to wake up somewhere completely different. Usually the events following ended up mentally scarring him for life, one way or another. He was immediately relieved when he realized that this wasn't one of those times, at least it didn't appear to be. No toxic gas was in sight, and as far as he could tell, all of his remaining internal organs were in the correct spots. In fact, there only seemed to be one issue with Six's situation, although it was a pretty big issue. It only took him a moment to notice the rushing wind blowing from below, alerting him to the fact that he was happened to be in the air. A big problem indeed.

This quick descent suddenly ended when he landed on his back with a rough 'thud'. 'Huh. Lot sooner than I expected.'* Even as he sat still, the unusually strong wind continued, now blowing from the side. He was half tempted to take the helmet off and feel the breeze on his face, but pushed the instinct back. No knowing who might be around, ready to put one in his dome. 'Well, now that that's taken care of,' Six mused, 'This easily beats out of all of 'em.' After briefly pondering his next course of action, he settled on simply folding his hands behind his head, intent on making the most out of this rare moment of calm before bullets began flying at him. He didn't yet know why, or from whom, only that it was a matter of time until the gunfire started.

Until then, the helmet's red eyes would gaze up at the almost unrealistic blue hue above him; it much clearer than the Mojave sky, the puffy white clouds a stark contrast to the depressing brown dust he was accustomed to. The gusts continued to tug at the torn ends of his ranger coat. There was nothing wrong with this, right? He was just... maintaining a defensive position is all. Waiting for the enemy to come to him. It was a perfectly fine strategy when executed properly, and this was the Courier. No worries there. Of course, as expected, a volley of bullets began to whiz by him, disrupting the peace that was temporarily separating him from the Wasteland.

Over the noise of the bullets, he was able to pick up on the sound of a yelling woman. "Hey! I said are you all right up there?" Who was up where? He looked up; there wasn't anything above him except more empty sky. Surely the woman was not yelling at him, right? Slowly, the Courier sat up, propping himself with his arms, then froze. Far below him, a great forest was visible, bringing back memories of the formerly gorgeous Zion. Cautiously, he glanced to his side, only to see that his hand was resting on what could only be described as a massive feather. The gears in his head turned painfully slow, hindered by the denial that insisted he wasn't _actually_ riding a ginormous raven. Meanwhile, the shouting and shooting continued around him, both of which he seemed to be completely oblivious to.

"That's funny," Six muttered to himself, looking to the horizon. "I don't _feel_ drunk." He carefully rose to his feet, fishing through one of the many pockets on his coat and complaining about sober he was. Finally, he brought a large, round bottle from its storage space. "Uh oh," he yelled in mock surprise. "My favorite! Atomic cocktails always did make me a bit rowdy, though. better look out!" he said to the bird underneath him, stomping a couple times for emphasis. Reaching into the depths of the long coat, Six grabbed the first bladed weapon he touched, curling his fingers around the metal without so much as a wince. It took him a few moments of awkward fumbling before he managed to pry the top of the bottle off with Gehenna's blade, but he was finally able to slam the massive drink back, finishing it in one long gulp. The instantly drunk man now felt ready to fight even the most ridiculous of fights, so he strapped the motorcycle gas tank onto his back and raised the unlit blade.

"It's about to get a little hot," he muttered. "And a man once said to me," he continued, raising his voice, "'I survive because the fire inside burns brighter than the fire around me!' And it'll **all** be burning when I'm done!" the Courier roared.

He let loose a manic chortle as he jammed the lawn mower blade between the tough feathers below him. Soon, he was howling in morbid joy as he spun around the shishkebab, twisting it into the wound while he pumped the handbrake over and over, releasing gasoline.

"The flames, they burn on and on! I'll raze it to the ground, beneath the dirt, **I'll bring it all down to Hell with me!**"

As the gas and flames began to consume the bird, he began tossing whiskey bottles around him, which exploded into great fireballs on contact. Six was too ecstatic to realize, or care, that the monster was falling back to earth, not noticing until gravity went awry once again.

* * *

Today was the day that dozens of specially trained warriors had been waiting for: Initiation into Beacon Academy. This year's newest students found themselves in the infamous Emerald Forest, every one wary of their surroundings. The headmaster's words were still fresh in their minds.

_"You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path...or you will die."_

Despite the dangers, most had been getting through the forest with minimal difficulties. Others had run into significantly more trouble in their journeys. Eight students in particular seemed to be dealing with the worst of it; yet, somehow, they managed to take down not only Beowolves, but minor Ursas and even a massive Death Stalker. The fight wasn't quite over yet, though, and they were barely standing as it was.

A few of the trainees began shooting at the Nevermore, which seemed to have little effect, while others waited until it was close enough to strike. As the great beast turned back to swoop down once again, however, one of the huntresses, Yang Xiao Long, caught sight of a figure in the air before it landed on the Grimm. "Hold up guys, stop shooting!" she called to the others. "Someone's up there!" Just what was going on? It had to be one of the other students, right? Who else would be in the forest anyway? But there was still no explanation for why it took so long to land, or how he/she got so far.

Ruby, a fellow huntress, bent her knees, ready to leap up towards the monster. "Alright, I'll go up there and-" Before she got a chance to launch herself, her partner, Weiss, grabbed her by the hood. "I don't think so, Ruby. If we're going to be partners, you're not rushing in like that anymore. Just imagine how bad it would make me look if I lose my teammate on the first day!" Ruby was about to reply, but was suddenly yanked off her feet, narrowly avoiding the volley of large feathers.

Meanwhile, Yang was using Ember Celica to get raise herself, hoping to find some trace of the mystery student. She forced to retreat when the Nevermore dove for her, however. her second attempt produced the same results. As she launched herself one last time, a second cluster of feathers were sent her way. "Alright, this isn't getting me anywhere!" Frustrated, she landed on the ground, then began to shoot toward the bird once again. There wasn't much the group could do except try to finish the massive Grimm and hope the extra trainee would be all right afterwards.

All of a sudden, a voice seemed to reverberate through the forest itself. "I survive because the fire inside burns brighter than the fire around me!" Whatever words came after were lost to the screeching of the burning monster, although the psychotic laughter was easily heard over it. Many of the students were distracted by the fiery display, but one of the boys, Jaune Arc, was beginning to catch on.

"Guys... look at the feathers!" He saw the others snap out of their gawking, deciding he should continue. "If we shoot its stomach, we can kill it!" His observation was spot on; the tough feathers were steadily burning away. The hunter and huntresses who possessed firearms quickly began firing anything they had at the Nevermore's vulnerable underbelly. Whatever the extra student was doing up above seemed to have some affect as well; by the time the bird was falling, it was the Grimm equivalent of a bloody pulp.

The Beacon trainees lined up to watch the bird descend. Some could barely make out the bird's last-second flip, as if to rid itself of its insane aggressor, or at least take revenge in its final moments, before it landed further into the Emerald Forest. The massive impact shook the trees, frightening countless birds out of their homes.

Slowly, Ruby's expression turned from awe to horror. "Oh no," she whispered. "No no no no no, this is bad!" Before anyone could get a word in, she was already gone, leaving only a cloud of her signature rose petals. The others had no choice but to follow, and began running as fast as their battered bodies could carry them, or in Ren's case, as fast as Nora could carry him.

Thankfully, it wasn't too far of a run before they found a wide field in the tree. Ruby stood in place, looking down into a bright crater, giving her friends tie to catch up. Yang was the first to reach her, and looked down into the hole to see what was keeping her sister so quiet.

At the center of the shallow indent, the bird's charred corpse was easily visible among the spreading fire. Still, the student was nowhere to be found. It wasn't long before the rest of the group caught up.

Pyrrha grew concerned at the sight. "I didn't see him on the way here. Did anyone find him?" Shaking heads was all she got in response. "we really should make sure he's alright..."

"If he's attending Beacon Academy," Weiss interrupted, "then he can take care of himself. It's his fault he got into this mess in the first place!"

Blake stepped in before the conflict had a chance to escalate, and by the looks on her allies' faces, it was about to _really_ escalate. "I think we should put it to a vote. Who thinks we should look for him?" Six hands rose. Nora shook her partner awake before raising his limp hand for him. "I suppose that settles it, then. Let's go."

The heiress's grumbling went unheard as they made their way to the center. Scorched earth cracked under their heels as they walked; it was almost horrifying how much damage he did to the forest in so little time. Whoever this guy's partner was had their work cut out for them, that was for sure. Of course, that was only if the student was in any shape to fight, or even walk, after the crash.

Even at the crater's core, there was no sign of the boy; only the smoking Grimm and the dying embers. "Look at that, he's already gone and now we're _wasting our time_ here. Can we go back now? I've seen more than enough of this forest today." Nobody else was as content with the results as Weiss was, and circled the bird, looking for clues. If he left, he should have left footprints, and nobody saw him leave the bird's back when they fell. There was one hint, though...

"What kind of weapon _is _that anyway?" Pyrrha questioned. She, along with Yang, Nora, and, by extension, Ren, were gathered around a what could easily pass of as a burning hunk of scrap next to the bird.

"I don't know, but it doesn't look like it'll be killing Grimm anytime soon," Yang pointed out, noting the bent blade. "Wait...is that a handbrake?"

"Oooh, let's see what this does!" Nora reached to pull the handbrake, but was stopped my the man next to her.

"Nora, I've already treated enough pancake-induced burns before. This is going to hurt a _lot_ more," Lie warned. She brought her hand away dejectedly before the foursome walked away from the metal.

At the same time, Ruby was patrolling a short distance away from the center with Jaune. They weren't wasn't having much luck either; occasionally she would find a scrap of brown cloth, and he found a few almost intact glass bottles spread around, but there little else. "Hey," she mumbled as they weaved between fires. "Do you think he's okay?"

The young man, stuttered at her question. What should he say? Should he tell the truth? Or try to comfort her? 'Aw man, maybe I should have gone to a school that teaches you how to talk to girls instead!' Jaune gulped before he answered. "Well, I mean...maybe?" The younger teen didn't make a sound. 'Okay, that didn't work.' He scratched his head anxiously. "But, well, he seemed kinda weird. Maybe he's really tough or something. Course, not as tough as me, but nobody should have to live up to that, huh?" That seemed to raise the girl's spirits a bit, and he couldn't help but grin a bit when he heard her chuckle. "What, do you think I'm joking? And I thought we were friends," he sighed in an overdramatic manner.

While they continued to lollygag, Blake found herself circling the bird for the the third time. She passed by the burning scrap heap once again- but something was...off about it. The fire was starting to die around the rusting blade, and it looked a bit like...

The huntress covered her mouth. Thinking quickly, she took one of the many feather fragments that littered the ground and used it to smother the embers. She was already expecting it, but the gasp managed to escape her lips. The whole time, a lone arm had been sticking out from underneath the Nevermore's massive body, hidden in plain sight under the fiery cover. His gloved hand was still curled around the steaming sword, as if the heat simply wasn't there.

"Yo Blake! Find something?" Yang approached her partner, trying to peak over the latter's shoulder. "It doesn't look like there's anything special with that-" Her lilac eyes fell upon the ravaged brown cloth, traveled along to the stiff hand, then dropped to the ground. "Oh." Neither bothered to tell their allies, as they were gradually gathering on their own.

"Wait, maybe he's still alive under there!" Ruby cried in desperation. "If we can just get someone to lift it...or we could dig him out, I can use Sweetheart to digg...or maybe if we make him mad he'll-"

Blake was already rolling the torn sleeve up by the time the fifteen year old started rambling. The gray sleeve followed. The raven-haired girl pressed two fingers to the bandaged wrist. Despite the recent fire, his stiff limb was already growing cold, and there was no sign of a pulse. "He's...not all right," she interrupted, unable to do anything stare at the arm. The only sound that came from behind was a soft scuffling of shoes in the cracked dirt, followed by a couple coughs.

It was no secret how dangerous the Initiation was; Beacon only accepted the best of the best, after all. Many initiates before them were wounded, even killed, in this very forest, and they were all aware of it. It was different, though. Being there to witness a person's final moments, knowing it could have easily been one of them...it was only made worse by the fact that his death most likely saved them all. "We should go back," Blake muttered as she rose to her feet. The Headmaster will want to know about what happened, and we shouldn't be in this fire much longer."

Slowly, the eight trainees made their way out of the crash site, but nobody noticed they had all started to walk in different directions. It was only when they reached the top when realization struck; not one person had any idea where they had to go. Weiss was already irritated by the time the students gathered.

"This is just what I expected," she grumbled. "Stranded. We finish the test only to get stuck in the middle of nowhere."

It seemed Yang's 'encounter' with the late hunter, minimal as it may have been, was enough to make the group members among the many victims of his infectious bad luck. Though they had no idea what this would have meant, the effects were obvious almost immediately; from all sides, a cacophony of monstrous growls. The accompanying red eyes that pierced the trees' shadows only worsened the grim** atmosphere. Nobody said a word, but each one faced outward, brandishing their weapons for the oncoming battle.

* * *

When he managed to force his eyelids open, complete darkness greeted him. He focused, but heard absolutely nothing. The pain in his arms and legs were just the icing on the snack cake. No wait, that would probably be the faint crushing feeling. Or perhaps the burning.

In short, everything was going wrong.

'Well of _course_ everything's wrong, you idiot.' If either of his arms could reach, he'd be slamming a palm to his armored head. 'This happens _every. Damn. Time. _Don't know why I drink the crap things in the first place.'

He wasn't an expert on birds, since the winged rats always took off the moment they saw him coming, but he managed to get a decent look at his victim before the suicide dive. Judging from the fact that he was still alive, Six guessed that he was trapped somewhere underneath the raven's fluffy neck plumage. And he was right. Whether his survival could be considered lucky or just plain cruel, he didn't know. What the Courier _did_ know was that it would only be a matter of time before the feathers caught fire, if the growing heat was anything to go by.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot he could do from down here. If he were able to move _just a bit,_ he could probably make his escape. Alas, he would be forced to go with his back up plan: let it burn, and pray he was still alive when an opening presents itself.

The Courier closed his eyes once again, lying in wait, when suddenly he felt a tug on his arm. His right arm. The intruder slowly rolled each of the sleeves up, angering him with every small movement. 'If this is another asshole who 'wants to see what happened in Nelson' I'm shooting them this time, I swear to...ugh.' His teeth grit when he felt slender fingers wrap around the limb. 'Maybe I should just clock the son of a-' His eyes shot open. He didn't even realize the gentle grasp released him.

His arm was free. Only a bit past the elbow, but that should be enough. Hell, this would be easy!

He bent his arm inward to grab a handful of the monster's flesh. Slowly, he raised the massive creature off of his aching body. Soon enough, he had enough space to sit up, then crouch, until finally he stood in the beast's shadow. With a single push forward, he flipped the bird in the most literal manner possible, then watched it flop. Even through the large tremor, Six managed to keep himself perfectly balanced as he brushed his hands together, ridding the black glove of any burned flesh bits that may have remained.

"Ugh. Hate when this happens." He may have been exaggerating _just a little; there were numerous occurrences of the Courier getting pinned beneath animal corpses, but _not once did the he even meet a living creature this large. It was important to keep up appearances, though. It was, after all, one of the reasons he's survived as long as he has. After some time, he learned to act 'as badass as possible' as often as possible, if only to get more practice. In the present, though, he immediately forgot he had company, instead choosing to focus on the bird.

"See, this is why FEV needs to be shot into space or something," he mumbled, arms outstretched and gesturing at the burning corpse. "Let the aliens deal with it. Might even get themselves killed if we're luc- _nope, not saying the 'L' word."_ The Wastelander continued to stare up at the view; the bird on its back was _huge._ Even larger than it appeared from on top. Even with its thin legs bent, he curled talons managed to poke up and out of the crater, which must have been at least thirty feet deep.

'Can't imagine there'd be any kind of civilization around here that could handle _that_ thing,' he mused. These thought then turned back to his sightseeing moments before the fall. 'Though now that I think about it..." He glanced up and to the right. Tall trees were barely visable over the rim of the hole. '...'here' doesn't seem to be the Wasteland I'm thinking about.' Since he was young, he's been travelling to many different Wastelands around the west coast, but nothing has ever been quite like this.

'Vault 22, Utah, Jacobstown...none of them had this much plant life. This whole place feels wrong.' He turned back to the bird, finally noticing the flames were intensifying. 'Doesn't look like that'll last long, though. The price I pay for a bitchin' flaming sword...'

Six's gaze followed the trail of fire that had spread to his left. Already it had almost consumed a large portion of the crater, and was steadily working towards the grass above him. "Oh, look at that," he laughed bitterly. "I'm here for, what, ten minutes? And I already trashed another national park. Some kinda natural talent I got." Grumbling, he raised his Pip-Boy to his face, inspecting the damage his body took from the landing. The screen showed the iconic, somewhat chubby figure. Its left leg, right arm, torso, and head were all portrayed with dotted lines. No wonder standing made him feel like complete crap.

The Courier reached into one of his coat pockets, hoping to find a vial of medicine before his hand ended up grabbing a knife blade. 'Guess I really should start organizing this thing again.' His fingers wrapped around a dose of hydra and eagerly withdrew it from the pocket. Six jammed the top of the bottle into his mouthpiece before releasing the gas. He waved away the fumes that seeped out of the helmet's side, then wiped the fog off of the helmet's eyes. 'There's gotta be an easier way to use these.' He stood for a few seconds to allow his limbs to mend themselves before strolling up to the bird. Bending down, he grabbed the shishkebab, ignoring the sizzle it gave off upon contact. The lawn mower blade was easily bent back into place under his iron grip.

It appeared that all of his belongings were accounted for, aside from a few pieces of his already-ragged trench coat. Now that his body was mended enough to walk, the Courier was ready to make his trek back home. If he was fortunate (which he wasn't) then he may have landed somewhere near Republic territory. The more Six saw, though, the less likely it seemed that NCR was anywhere near. Thankfully, it also looked like the same applied to Caesar's gang as well.

"So where the hell am I?" There was no way of knowing unless he went out and explored, so without further delay, he turned around to leave the crater. And while the Courier was a man with countless regrets, he would say this was at least in the top fifty. The drained vial of hydra hit the ground as he stared back at what was easily the most 'eccentric' group of wastelanders he'd ever come across. No, eccentric wasn't even close. What stood in front of him was bizarre, it was anarchy, it was _an abomination._

The vibrant rainbow that filled his vision threatened to tear his already fragile psyche. His surroundings became blurry, and a headache pounded in his skull. Six could only put part of the blame on the drugs and alcohol. 'Good _God,_ this is worse than the Fiends! At least they're consistent! Hell, I heard hot pink was actually making a comeback these days...but God _damn!'_

It appeared that the clothes were not much better. The outfits were just as bright and vivid as the hair, and from what he could tell, were just as ridiculous as the Legion's uniforms as far as design went.

His eyes swept through the crowd, searching desperately for anything he could call normal. Blinding white hair, unnaturally golden locks, it was all wrong. Right when it seemed all hope was lost, he froze at the sight of a pair, both of whom had pitch black hair.

'Could it be? Is it really-' a wind rushed past the male, revealing a magenta streak attached to the side. '...Unbe-fucking-lievable.' Six fought the sudden urge to salute the boy in honor of his 'masculinity that went MIA.' All he could do was avert his gaze, which only served to made the situation worse.

The Courier was greeted by the sight of a girl whose face was inches from his. Startled, he stepped back, and his hand darted to his pocket. There was really no knowing exactly what gun he would pull out on such short notice, but he was confident it would stop any of these kids in their tracks if need be. Fortunately, it didn't look like that would be necessary, since she didn't encroach any further. Even through the blurry vision, he could easily see her mouth running a mile a minute.

But no sound accompanied it. Only now did the Courier take notice of the piercing ringing that was present in his ears. "Ah, guess all that whiskey _did_ make things a bit loud," he said to himself, practically yelling the statement. The not-quite-healed concussion didn't do much for him, either. He raised a fist to the side of his head and rapped his knuckles on the metal surface, hoping to get all of the metal pieces in his skull back into the right places. After about half a minute of head-banging, his hearing returned, as well as his vision. At least, it was sort of cleared up. One eye remained somewhat blurry.

'Guess I won't be using any long-range right now. Great.' With his restored hearing, Six picked up on distant growling. A lot of it. 'Right. Why did I expect any different?' He ignored the now audible, and loud, teens and pulled on Gehenna's handbrake. All that came from the sword was a disappointing hiss. Puzzled, he glanced down to his weapon and pulled twice more. Still nothing. The gas tank _did_ feel lighter, now that he thought about it. "Aw Hell," he grumbled. The pun did manage to raise his spirits a bit, though, if only slightly.

Without another word, the wastelander began to stride forward through the crowd, ditching the shishkebab almost immediately. As he climbed the slope of the crater, he dug through the brown coat for some 'combat enhancers.' He pulled out a handful of whatever chems he could grab and inspected their labels. In his palm, he saw a syringe of Slasher, a dose of the Twin Mothers' Bitter Drink, and a plastic bottle of water; the last of which had the word _RUSHING_ hastily scribbled in marker. Behind the helmet, the man scowled down at the assortment of drugs. Looks like the universe _really_ wanted him to get up close for this fight.

His gaze traveled up as he continued to walk; the dark creatures were already moving out to meet him on the battlefield. Finally, he jabbed the needle into his arm above the Pip-Boy, then guzzled the two drinks through the filter of his ranger helmet. Lastly, he retrieved his trusty katana from a loop inside his coat, then duct-taped the scabbard to his belt. "En-freakin'-garde."

The drugs rushed through his system. He drew his blade, then began to jog toward the largest group of 'muties' his eyes fell upon.

* * *

The soon-to-be Beacon students were lined up around outside the smoldering crater, taking the chance to prepare for battle while the Grimm were still keeping their distance. Just what was taking so long, anyway? In most cases, the shadowy beasts would simply attack on sight.

As the warriors brandished their weapons, Nora continued to gloomily load Magnhild with grenades. Nothing was better, in her mind, than getting to meet new people, and that boy was almost as energetic as her!

But what she saw and heard was completely unlike the lifeless arm at the crash sight. Just the thought of it demoralized her further; she was a cheery girl most of the time, yes, but other peoples' deaths was something that she simply couldn't handle.

The girl hefted her hammer, ready to charge at the closest Beowolf in sight. At the same time, her best friend, Lie Ren, was inching away steadily. Seeing his friend like this was...unsettling. The dark haired boy was almost a safe distance away from the unusually quiet chance of escape from her possible wrath was hindered when the ground itself shook, knocking the fatigued gunslinger off his feet. on instinct, Nora twirled around to figure out what caused the crash.

The lone figure stood in the middle of the crater next to the overturned Nevermore, surrounded by crackling flames. No details were visible at such a distance except for the long coat on his back. The sight was enough to revert the teen to her usual bubbly self instantly; without thinking, she began to dash toward him.

"Look guys, our new friend is better!" she cried. Still, she managed to contain herself enough to heed Ren's words to give the injured man some space.

She was followed by the other students, who exhibited more caution around the man. They were relieved that he survived, yes, but he also sounded far from sane when he was last heard from. Rather than confront the mystery student, the group wordlessly agreed to wait and watch, just to ensure that he was 'all right in the head,' so to speak.

So far, he didn't seem _too_ weird. Not much of his attire could be seen aside from the back of what looked like a helmet and a coat that looked ready to fall apart any minute, most likely due to the recent skirmish. It was a rather...odd ensemble, but if it worked, it worked. All the while, he continued to stare at his left arm. While Lie Ren was holding his energetic friend back, he noticed the man was leaning on his right leg. 'If he doesn't get that fixed soon, he-' Time almost slowed to a stop as the boy in the coat turned.

Red. No, they weren't simply red; his very gaze felt like the embodiment of all that was evil in the world and beyond. The burning cold stare of Death itself swept along the row of teens, one by one, as if to pick its next victim. Ren's jaw clenched when the Red Glare stopped upon seeing him. This was it. The end. Not at the hands of feral Grimm. Not a natural, peaceful death after retirement. Not even some freak accident involving Nora snorting powdered sugar and flour, like he had imagined. Whatever this demon had in store for him would be far worse than any demise he could imagine.

Nora, who was too distracted trying to escape her friend, was the only one not under the boy's influence. Finally, Ren's grip slackened, and the energetic girl sprinted past him immediately.

"Heya, friend! I don't remember seeing you before!" Instantly, he stepped back and moved his hand into a pocket, all without a word. "Ooh, I bet you have more of those weird weapons to show us, right?" The stranger withdrew his hand from his pocket and relaxed, although the energetic girl didn't seem to notice. "Or maybe you can't talk and you wanna show me a nametag? Y'know, that'd be pretty sad if you can't talk, but it's fine now 'cause we're your friends now, and if someone tries to bully you we'll-"

As she continued to run her mouth, the other students snapped out of their daze, and were immediately taken aback by the severity of his injuries. The impact did a number on his helmet and coat, as well as the breastplate he was wearing. Even worse, his left side of his pants were stained with red, and bent at an awkward angle.

"That leg doesn't look good, you need a doctor!"

"You're bleeding all over, do you need help?"

"But... he was dead... there was no pulse..."

"I can help carry you until we're back at Beacon, alright?"

"-and it was _really cool_ how you were all laughing and burning things, but obviously you didn't want to hurt _us,_ right, because friends don't-"

The helmet tilted, giving only a blank stare. Then, without warning, he yelled, "Ah, guess all that whiskey _did_ make things a bit loud." What the heck did that mean? Whiskey? What was wrong with this guy?

"Why isn't he listening to us?" Ruby asked, worried. "That bump on his head looked pretty bad. What if the damage is permanent?"

"This can't be the first time he's hurt himself. Even you aren't as reckless as that dolt!" Weiss exclaimed, failing to notice the pout Ruby gave her. As tempted as Blake was, she decided against pointing out the fact that the man was currently hitting himself in the head. Weiss was already agitated enough from the situation, anyway.

Ren took the opportunity to interrupt before their bickering could escalate any further. "Whatever's happening, we should make it fast. It's likely the tremor made the Grimm angrier, and this crater isn't a good place to get surrounded."

It was difficult to hear between the fire and her teammates, but Blake was able to pick up on the sound of the growling Beowolves. "He's right. They're already moving this way, and I don't think we'll be able to run." Not that it would be much of a fight either way; trying to take all of those enemies head on was practically suicide for the exhausted warriors.

A crunching sound echoed throughout the hole. The students turned to see the trenchcoat-wearing boy toss his damaged weapon to the side before he walked through the middle of the silent crowd. The earth continued to crunch under his feet as he made his way out of the crater with a slight limp. Along the way, he threw a number of empty bottles. It was obvious to most of the teens at this point: this guy was completely nuts. Was he really trying to run away in that condition?

He quickly took a sword out of his coat and drew it with a flourish. No, this man was not simply mad; he was suicidal!

"Guys, I think we should be doing something!" Ruby stated.

"Yeah! We should go play with our new friend!" Nora replied, hefting her massive hammer over her shoulder. Pyyrha managed to get a grip on the other girl's shirt before she managed to join the man, who had already disappeared from sight.

"Sorry Nora, but I don't think any of us can afford to go and fight those things."

"Although," Yang interrupted, "that guy's probably are best bet for surviving this."

"Yang has a point," Blake added. "If we act as support and keep him safe, we might be able to get out alive."

Yang stuck a gauntlet-covered fist in the air. "Sounds like a plan, guys! Let's go!" The other students were ready to join her pre-battle cheer, but it was interrupted by the stranger's roaring in the distance. After a quick ascent out of the crater, they barely managed to see him leaping at a crowd of Beowolves. It didn't take him long to cut his way through the small group, although not without taking some hits. Rather than fall back, he decided to charge recklessly into the next group. "Well, no time like the present, right?"

The trainees dashed to catch up with him, firing on some of the stray Grimm that were gathering around the scuffle. Unfortunately, the monsters were able to run a lot faster then they could. Beowolves were appearing faster than they were dying, and the size of the battle was escalating at an alarming rate. The teens' only choice was to shoot at the edges of the black cloud and hope the boy wouldn't get hit. Thankfully, his incomprehensible yelling from within was enough to bring relief to his saviors.

Even with their firepower, it took a few minutes and many more bullets before the swordsman was once again visible, albeit much worse for wear his already injured body was practically falling apart at this point. His limbs were criss-crossed with large crimson gashes, and his breastplate was barely holding together under the beasts' scratches. Yet, somehow, he continued to fight, even if it was noticeably sloppier.**  
**

With every dead Grimm, though, the remaining ones were given more space, making them that much harder to fight as they dashed quickly around the battlefield. Yang and Nora took it upon themselves to bat away whatever monsters got too close to their new ally, allowing their other teammates to finish them with ease.

Just as it appeared that victory was close, another wave of the beasts sprang from the trees. The nine warriors were soon overwhelmed and divided, leaving each to defend themselves. The fight quickly descended into chaos; the humans were barely visible to each other in the sea of black that threatened to swallow them.

And yet, for whatever reason, his indecipherable shouting was enough to keep them going. Slowly, the mass of black began to thin out once again. It was beginning to look like they might actually survive this fight. Like they might make it home.

* * *

"Heads up!"

Ruby jumped over a Beowolf, hooking her blade around its neck. With a jerk, she tore through the flesh, then shot into another's torso.

"Heh. Yang would have liked that one." As if on cue, the sister in question came into view a small distance away. "Oh, hey sis!" The blonde turned, waved back at the girl in red, then sent an uppercut into a Beowolf. Behind her, Weiss could be seen surrounded by glyphs and deceased Grimm.

'Yeah, I probably shouldn't bug her.' That was when Ruby noticed she could see every one of her friends from Beacon.

But she couldn't see the new guy.

"Ooooh no, this can't be good. Uh...headcount!" She held up two fingers. "Yang, Weiss..."

She saw Blake's weapon flying over the crowd. "That's three..."

To her left, Ruby could see Jaune scrambling on the ground. The Beowolf looming over him jerked back, accompanied by the cracking of a gunshot. "There's those two..." Now the panic was really setting in. Shouldn't someone as rowdy as him be easier to find?

Nora sprinted past the fifteen year old, smashing Magnhild into her enemies as she ran. Ren was being dragged by his hair behind her, wincing as he sprayed bullets at whatever Grimm his friend missed. "Do you think we can slow down? This is _really_ starting to hurt!"

Still no sight of him. Now that she thought about it, he had been quiet for some time now.

In her moment of distraction, she was attacked from the side and pinned to the ground. From her viewpoint, Ruby finally saw him. The Trenchcoat Boy had his back to the treeline and was...floating. A few feet off of the ground. How many tricks did this guy have up his sleeve anyway?

Ruby watched the man, waiting for his next move. Although from where she was sitting, it could almost pass off for some kind of divine intervention***; his levitation, the sun's light shining on him, and his unnatural stillness all came together in the perfect image of holiness.

For some reason, no action came. He was getting swarmed by Beowolves, some of them were even climbing onto him, yet he did nothing. 'What the heck is he waiting for? Is he-'

His body was jerked up further. The Grimm fell from the sunlit man, but his only movement was the swinging of his dangling legs, which were drenched in blood.

A large white spike had pierced through his abdomen. He was hoisted further up, pushing even more of the liquid out of his wound.

The girl's silver eyes widened at the sight. she realized that the Grimm that had been kept her on the ground was long gone, most likely off to join the crowd that was gathering around the wounded boy.

_"No!" _In a flash, she sprang from her spot. There was no thought, no control as she dashed through the horde, slicing through countless monsters. The black fur flew was sent flying, covering her and her nearby teammates in a layer of the chopped hair. Finally, after dashing across the field, she skidded to a stop at the edge. With a single swing of Crescent Rose, numerous Beowolf heads were sent into the air.

By the time she arrived, his body was completely limp on the spike. With his drooping head and swaying arms, it was difficult not to assume the worst.

But Ruby Rose wasn't one to just accept the bad like that. Besides, he already survived a horrible injury before, right? It was still possible he was still alive.

She hooked the handle of her scythe onto a tree branch, then hefted herself higher. After some hopping between branches, she found herself at the same elevation as Trenchcoat Boy. Now that she could see him up close...

Any hopes that he was alive were dashed instantly. It was difficult just finding somewhere on his body that the scarlet fluid _wasn't_ leaking from. There wasn't even skin under the tears in his clothing; all she could see was bones, muscle, and who-knows-what-else. And that was just looking at his arms and legs.

She desperately turned the bloody helmet to face her. The blank 'face' almost seemed to be taunting her, as if it were his own blank face. As if he truly was immune to the pain. But there was no response.

"C'mon c'mon c'mon, you can't be dead! Let's go!" Ruby yelled. The helmet tilted mockingly at her. "But...you...you're tough! You _can't_ be dead!" She moved her hand to the left side of his battered breastplate. Everything would be fine. She would find a heartbeat, and he would do that thing where he started laughing and burning things, and everyone could go celebrate their victory, and _everything would be fine._

She didn't dare move when her hand met the metal. Her face froze as she waited for the thumping of a heartbeat. But there was none.

'But what about last time? He didn't have a pulse!' Of course, it was just wishful thinking, and she didn't bother trying to fool herself any further. Dead was dead, simple as that. Even as she sat here with him, even though he might have been alive when she got there. There was nothing she could have done.

Ruby couldn't look at the bloody mess any longer, but couldn't bring herself to just leave him here either. So she just sat on the tree branch and looked out at the distance. It looked like the battle was just about over anyway, so what was the point in joining? Her thoughts returned to the boy, and her vision blurred. Sure, she didn't know him. She didn't know he existed half an hour ago. But he was a person too; he had a life, he had dreams and a family, right? The water continued to run down her face.

_It wasn't fair._

Who was going to tell them, anyway? Would Ozpin just send a letter to the family? Would he tell them in person? 'Maybe I should go, too. I mean, I was the last one with him, right? In a way...' Of course, meeting new people was difficult enough when you weren't telling them that their son was dead.

Her depressing thoughts came to a stop when a loud crack erupted from beside her. When Ruby turned to look, both the man and the spike were gone. The sickening squelch below got her attention. The boy landed on his side in the red pool, just barely stopping the white talon from pinning him to the ground. It almost looked like he was trying to shout something to her, but it went unheard as the massive Ursa let loose a pained roar. If the girl wasn't so focused on the seemingly resurrected student, she would have noticed that the Grimm had retreated further into the woods. Instead, she watched his painful attempts at standing; the jagged edges of fractured bones tore through the flesh on his trembling legs. The sight was sickening, it was disturbing, hell, she was getting more than a bit terrified of the man. Whatever it was that kept him going, it sure wasn't natural; he looked more like a man possessed than anything else. Maybe if she stayed up here, he wouldn't notice her...

That is, if he could focus on himself first. He struggled to stay standing, but was slowly tipping as he stumbled backwards. He kept his hand on the broken talon, but finally fell to his knees before he could remove it from his stomach. It almost looked like he was ready to pass out again as he shifted his weight to his hands. That changed when the sound of the Ursa returned; his head shot back up to find his attacker. In an instant, he was back on his feet, arms spread out, and sending what almost looked like a taunting nodding motion into the woods, as if daring the Grimm to try and kill him again.

Maybe suicidal isn't the right word for this guy. Whether that was good or bad wasn't exactly clear, though.

* * *

Normally, he kept emotions in check while he was fighting. You have to keep a cool head when your life is at stake, of course.

**"Hah hah haaah, this is even better than Hoover!"**

Six wasn't being quite as careful as normal right now. Really, he wasn't being normal at all. Getting dragged into every little conflict the Mojave had to offer was less than enjoyable, and the concrete bloodbath widely known as 'Hoover Dam' was one of the last things he would describe as 'fun.'

He felt different right now, though. He felt...refreshed, in a sense. Like a different man. A man who thoroughly enjoyed being a whirlwind of carnage and death. Really, there was no other way to describe it. What he felt was far different from any drug frenzy he experienced; even large doses of psycho weren't enough to make him any more hostile. This change was something else. It came from the one place where he was completely defenseless. From within the mad house that was his mind.

The katana's blade buried itself into one of the vaguely coyote-like creature's eyesockets, killing it instantly. The black smoke seeping from the skull/face was a bit of a disappointment to the madman. "Not** nearly** red enough for me," he growled. The thin metal quickly slid out from its place, then cut through three more monsters behind him. There may not have been enough blood for his taste, but the sight of the animals writhing and dying at his feet was enough to bring a small, dark chuckle out.

A clawed hand swept across his back, showering the grass with a thin veil of blood. This did nothing to stop the Courier; in fact, his sadistic grin only grew wider under the emotionless mask. He spun to face his attacker, and was immediately taken by the throat. Normally, he would have simply disemboweled the creature and continued fighting.

But this particular beast had the balls to draw his blood. It deserved 'special treatment.'

Using his free hand, he got a firm grip on the monster's arm. Slowly, the appendage was torn from its socket, and Six sent the screeching beast away with a kick to the torso. As the wounded animal retreated into the woods behind him, he held up the smoking limb victoriously, not minding the scarlet running down his clothes.

"Oh man, I knew it!" he shouted skyward. "Going with Legion would have been **so** much better!" The exclamation barely made it past his lips before the wide smile was finally wiped from his face. The black arm splashed as it landed in the crimson pool at his feet. All Six could do was stand frozen in place and stare down at his red stained clothes in horror.

_'True to Caesar.' _Disgusted, he threw the stained sword away, desperate to rid himself of anything that would remind him of the slavers and murderers.

'...No, I'm not like them. I _know _I'm better...' His gaze traveled back down to his open hands. The right glove now a dark red hue from the trails that dripped down his injured shoulder. 'I _have_ to be better than them!' His eyes went wide, almost hysterical as he tried to convince himself. Just the sight of red shade made his vision blur again. He felt his legs give out under him...but he remained upright.

He quickly lost the strength to hold his hands up, and let them drop to his sides. Only then did he become aware of the piercing agony in his gut. The pain was replaced with numbness as the white claw pushed further through his stomach. Darkness was coming fast; the Courier could barely move a muscle as he hung from the spike. With the last of his energy, he reached for the discarded katana in vain. In mere seconds, even this became too taxing for his fatigued body.

This wasn't how he imagined he'd die. Not even close, really. It could have been anything, anything at all, and he would most likely have been content with it.

Natural causes? Sounds good.

Thousands of Legionaries on the battlefield? Somewhat more, likely. Hell, he might have had enough time to say something _really fucking terrifying_ before he keeled over. Being immortalized as a total badass didn't seem too bad at all.

A night in Gomorrah gone awry? He could only hope!

But no, he got stabbed in the back by an enemy he never saw coming. If he was able to think straight, he would have been pretty disappointed in himself.

He wasn't even able to monologue like he had expected. Not that he had one planned; Six just thought something would come naturally. Some speech about how how could have gone about his whole life differently, or finally learning the true meaning behind his trials and tribulations. Any kind of revelation would have been nice.

Nope. no revelation. He couldn't speak as his blood pooled into his throat, then began to leak from the front of the ranger helmet.

His head began to feel heavy, and his sight steadily grew dim as life left his body. The muffled sounds of the battle quickly faded, leaving him in the silent darkness.

* * *

**_Hey._**

_...What? Where am I?_

_**You're not dead. I'm holding my end of the deal. Now it's you're turn.**  
_

_And what exactly am I supposed to do?_

**_What you've always done. Kill people, steal and pillage, wreak havoc, all the fun stuff. Just like old times, eh?_**

_..._

**_Well? What do you say?_**

_..._

* * *

_"No!"_

Courier Six jolted awake to the sound of a shrill yell. It wasn't enough to rid his mind of its daze, but it was a start.

He struggled to move something, anything. His body was unresponsive. He couldn't even lift his own head in this state. Although, it seemed someone was already doing that for him. As his helmet was shaken from side to side, his pounding headache grew worse, and he couldn't even tell the other person to quit it. Just keeping his eyelids somewhat open was a struggle right now.

He only had to endure a short burst of high pitched yelling before quiet returned once again. It was rare when silence brought him joy, at least when a hangover wasn't involved, but this was easily more enjoyable than having his brain shaken out of his ears. It even gave him some time to gather his thoughts. And his strength.

Gradually, he lifted a bent arm above him, then sent it crashing down into the talon behind him. It was unfortunate that he didn't develop his plan past step one, as he was left with a pretty big problem: more specifically, a big drop. He was barely able to keep himself upright as he plunged downward. As long as he didn't land on the claw he should be fine, right?**  
**

The series of sickening cracks from his legs begged to differ. Six couldn't quite tell what happened to the limbs, but there was one thing he was sure of: they were bending in _way _too many places. The pain sent him into a small coughing fit, which at least managed to clear his throat to some extent. Thankfully, the dose of Hydra was still in his system, and was already repairing fractured bones. Right on time, too; whatever it was that almost killed him, it sounded _pissed,_ and the Courier was ready to get the hell out of there.

He took a deep breath, attempting to brace himself against the pain. Quickly, he backpedaled**** away from the forest, wincing every time a foot hit the ground. He managed to go twenty feet before the additional weight of the claw became too much. The fragile bones in his legs splintered apart once again, causing him to drop to his knees. "Okay," he grunted. "This isn't gonna work at _all._ I'm as good as dead like this."

And yet, he didn't quite believe it. To be honest, he should have been dead when he was impaled. He shouldn't even be walking after fighting all of those dogs. It was as if something in him changed, something that just didn't want to let him die. So why not take advantage of it?

Six slid another vial of Hydra from his coat and inhaled it, reinvigorating the healing effect. The growling returned once again, and now the wastelander could see the head of a massive bear poking out of the trees. 'Oh, great. Just what I wanted to see.' Then he saw its paws emerge, and took note of the missing claw. 'What, now he wants a fair fight? Well, who am I to refuse?'

The Courier pushed himself off of the ground. He was feeling a second rush from the mixing chemicals that flowed through him, and was eager to use it while it lasted. "This thing thinks he's tough, huh?" He took a few steps forward with his arms spread wide, trying to appear as cocky as humanly possible. It looked like the bear got the message, and it soon began approaching, growling once again. All according to plan. "If he wants tough, then I'll show him what tough _really_ is." After all, the Courier was raised in one of the meanest cities on the west coast. "This is how we do it in-" He lurched forward and began to cough up blood once again. "...God damn it."

* * *

The students watched the fascinating, mildly disturbing scene. It was more than a little unnerving to see him walk around as if there _wasn't_ a thirty foot Ursa trying to kill him and he _didn't _have a three foot claw stuck in him. He still looked like a mess though, and they still needed to kill the Grimm.

"This has to be one of the most intense staring contests I've ever seen," Yang stated. "...So, we just gonna let him do his thing, or should I go get him?"

"Hang on a second Yang, this might be a good thing." The blonde's partner gestured to the black bear. "This might be our best chance at killing it. If he keeps it distracted long enough, we can get someone to hit it with a sneak attack."

"Yeah, maybe Weiss can use her glyphs to find a good spot to attack," Jaune added.

"And you want me to do this _where_ exactly? You can't do a sneak attack out in the open you dunce!" The heiress waved a hand in the Grimm's direction. "If you want me to kill that thing, it has to be back in the forest."

"Don't worry princess, we'll figure something out," Yang said with a teasing grin. "Now get going!" Weiss shot the blonde a scowl, then started running toward the trees a short distance to the side of the bear. At the same time, Ruby was slowly approaching Trenchcoat boy, who easily looked like he was puking his guts out. The words caught in her throat; should she say something? Help him out? rub his back? She wasn't trained for anything like this!

"Are you...gonna be alright?"

'Wow. _Wow._ Did I really just say that?'

"That better," he wheezed, "be a damn joke." More crimson poured as he spoke, and her nausea returned. She was about to continue, but was interrupted when his heavy hand gripped her left shoulder.

'Er... I guess he needs help standing up, right? Yeah, that's all-' He pulled her closer. Ruby gulped, mildly afraid of whatever would come next.

"Well there's no way in Hell I'm going back in there," he muttered as he glared toward the Grimm, which was now backing away into the woods.

'Wait...a Grimm? Retreating? Grimm never run away!' Then she remembered the terrifying presence she felt when those blood red eyes met hers. 'But...I can't really blame it.'

"So, y'know. Good luck." Wait, what was that supposed to mean? Ruby opened her mouth to ask, but instead of words, she only heard a high pitched scream and the air rushing past her. Trees whizzed by her as she realized she had been flung into the forest, and was quickly approaching the Ursa's head. At least, she was, until something collided with her mid-air. The two landed in a tangled ball, cushioned by a thick bush.

"Excuse me? Do you mind telling me what _that _was? It's like you're _trying_ to mess up the plan!" Weiss growled at her partner.

"I-i-it wasn't my fault this time Weiss, really!" Ruby cried. "That guy picked me up, right, and I thought 'Well he just needs some help' so-"

"Alright alright, just quiet down!" The irritated girl pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's try this again _without_ having a breakdown. Is that too much to ask?"

"He threw me here Weiss! I didn't mean to mess you up, I swear!" The Schnee shushed the babbling teen when the sound of stomping erupted a short distance away. What was strange was that it wasn't coming towards the loud huntress; in fact, the Grimm was moving in the opposite direction. The two girls wordlessly ended the conversation in favor of investigating what was happening in the field.

While they were gone, the massive claw had somehow gone from the stranger's gut to the Ursa's palm that was mere inches above him, which ended up with both of them roaring at each other a lot. Trenchcoat boy jerked the spike out, rolled forward, and pushed it into the beast's stomach. Suddenly, the bear stood on its hind legs. Instead of withdrawing, he sent a flurry of quick kicks, jamming the claw further into the howling monster. Just before the arm hit the ground, he rolled to the side and sprinted in the other direction.

The fight quickly began to die down in intensity, devolving into a large bear playing a surprisingly frustrating game of 'Whack-a-mole.' The man dodged, ducked, dipped, dived, and dodged some more, barely escaping the swinging bear arms. Just as he was turning to run towards the bear once again, he was swept off his feet by the giant paw. The Ursa raised its arm to the sky.

There was no way he was getting out of this alone.

The younger teen pointed to the dark limb. "Weiss, use your gly-"

"Alright, I get it. Just watch out this time," she grumbled, then took off, leaving the glowing circle in her wake.

As the pale girl soared through the sky, Ruby dashed to help the other student fight. She ducked under a horizontal swing from the monster's left limb, then rolled away, narrowly avoiding the recently-severed right arm. 'That's one down.'

The Grimm proved to be a stubborn one, though; it was already raising its other arm, hellbent on crushing the other now, it seemed he was too preoccupied to notice; after the first arm was cut, he bolted back to the talon and promptly began to stomp it repeatedly. If his life weren't at stake, it would have been mildly entertaining to watch.

Since she couldn't do that, Ruby used the last of her nearly depleted energy to dash forward. With a mighty leap, she intersected the quickly descending appendage and lopped it off with a single swing, spreading shredded fur across the field. She was barely conscious by the time she reached the ground, and ended up leaving a cloud of dust behind as she rolled to a stop. And she waited. She only relaxed when she finally heard the 'thud' as the Ursa hit the ground for the last time.

"Uuuugh...I should've packed some cookies or something. Is this what tired is?" The girl didn't bother to remove the red hood that had fallen over her eyes. Really, it just made falling asleep that much easier. She'd already be in Dreamland if it weren't her peeved partner shouting in the distance. "Alright Weiss, just five more minutes..." Just when she thought the yelling was over and she could sleep in peace, she heard footsteps approaching. Loud, heavy, jingling footsteps.

Suddenly, the panic kicked in once again, albeit very tired panic. 'Is he here to thank me? What should I say? do I thank him?! I can't talk to someone like this!' The clomping boots stopped next to her. 'I guess I don't have much of a choice...' Ruby slowly sat up and lifted the red cloth from her face. All of her senses were thrown off immediately.

The sudden sunlight only left her with the image of a large silhouette looming above. The red eyes and jacket gave away his identity immediately, even in her current state. But where was the hole?

In the distance, Yang was yelling something in her direction. Sounded upset about something, but the younger sister had no clue why.

A large, cold gun barrel was pressed against her forehead. She only heard the man's last few words.

"-Legion son of a bitch."

The birds in the nearby trees scattered at the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

Six placed a flat hand over his eyes. Too late. The girl was already gone.

"Damn sun, couldn't see a thing." He turned away from where she had disappeared into the trees. On hindsight, throwing her probably wasn't the most effective strategy. Or even moderately effective, for that matter. He never did like hindsight. Always popped up after you need it. "Guess it's up to me, as usual," he muttered. "But first thing's first..."

He took the tip of the claw with both hands, then took a deep breath. "Can't move around..." The Courier slowly brought his hands in, forcing the talon out through his back. "...with this thing weighing me down." His right hand moved to his mouth to stop the blood while his left made a half-assed attempt to hold his organs in. He looked down to see what remained.

'Well. Got a little bit of all of 'em. Isn't that just _perfect.' _He was just happy the bear got him below all of the 'good' organs. This, he could recover from. It would hurt, sure. Might even be the most painful thing he'll ever feel. He glanced back down to the intestines hanging from his wound. 'Ooooh yeah. This is gonna _hurt.'_

His hand carefully slid into one of his inner pockets. "Can't move around..." Six withdrew a glass vial, no bigger than his thumb, filled with a luminescent blue liquid. The gunman moved his left hand to raise the ranger helmet above his mouth, allowing the blood to drain from the clogged filter. "...when I'm dead either," he wheezed. He tossed the shot back, then dropped the helmet back onto his head.

Before he knew it, the black Yao Guai was back in front of him. He only had moments to act before he was flattened or eaten. 'Outta swords...knives won't work on it...damn it, I coulda shot him dead easily if I could see straight!' The paw was already rushing down to meet him. "Shiiit!"

Wait. This one was easy. His childhood, heck, his entire life had prepared him for this moment.

Six kicked the claw back up into his hands, then drove it into the bear's. 'Everything's a shiv when you need it to be!' The makeshift weapon was torn out with a twist, then tucked it closer into his body. He dove forward, just barely missing the other paw that nearly crushed him, then stuck the spike into the bear's underbelly.

"Yeah, karma's a bitch, ain't it?" he yelled above the roar. Each kick he sent pushed the talon in just a bit further, although it didn't seem to have much effect on the monster itself. That was when he realized the bear was standing with its arms raised. The Courier had practically zero experience fighting enemies this large, but he didn't need to be sober to figure out what was coming.

He sprang away just before the paw crashed into the ground. 'Okay, time to run!' The torn ends of his trench coat were shredded further as he turned and sprinted, barely escaping the bear's wide swipe. Six immediately regretted this decision when the aching in his gut returned with a vengeance. 'Great. Either I get killed by the Yao Guai, or I pass out from a bad stomach ache. And _then _get killed by the Yao Guai.' He kicked off of an incoming paw, rolled, and continued to run as he held his stomach. 'And then this is the part where it gets worse, since I-' Lost in thought, the Courier didn't notice the fuzzy wall of black that rushed to meet him. He landed on his sore back with a groan.

Without all of the jostling around that came from running, the pain went from 'oh God, shoot me now I beg you' down to 'just plain unbearable'. He groaned louder at the thought of the terrible pun. This truly was the low point in his life. Should he even bother getting up now? It didn't matter. The pain became too great. Even if he wanted to, the slightest movement of his body would probably end up immobilizing him. 'Probably shoulda just left the hole, woulda been doin' better like that.' His eyes went wide at the sound of the roaring animal. 'Oh God.' the ground began to vibrate, making him instinctively curl inward and writhe on the ground.

"Oh _Gooood..." _Six lifted his helmet enough to empty the bile in his mouth before wiping his face on his sleeve and returning the black metal to its place. "All right, enough's enough!" At least it managed to wake him up a bit. He kicked up, landed on his feet, then dashed straight for the growling beast. _"All or nothiiiing!"_ Six sprang forward, sticking his foot forward as he soared. The claw cracked from the impact, but he continued to brutally stomp the spike into his enemy. After a good half a minute of kicking, his attention was finally drawn away when another small quake rumbled. Still pushing his foot forward, he looked over his shoulder to see both arms lying on the ground, smoke trailing off of the places they had been severed.

Slowly, he dropped his foot to the ground, turned away from the probably dead bear, then slid his hands into his pants pockets. 'Did I do that?' It wouldn't be the first time. Arms don't usually fly off of a person when you shoot them in the foot, but Six managed to not only find a way, but accidentally do it on a daily basis. 'Damn I'm good.' A strong gust from behind whipped at the ends of his coat, accompanied by a cloud of dirt and a third, larger quake. 'I get to look good too? Maybe today won't be so bad.' After all, he probably wasn't in NCR territory, right? It's practically a vacation now!

'But I've dealt enough 'nature' this week. Those kids looked pretty well dressed, so there's gotta be some kinda settlement, right?' There was no way of knowing where, exactly, this hypothetical settlement was, but he was already dead set on being more optimistic during his 'vacation.' 'And I haven't found a settlement that didn't have booze!'

That thought managed to put a genuine smile on his face as he began walking in a random direction. "Can't take too long or they'll come looking, but a week or two shouldn't be _too_ bad. They can manage that long, right?" The Courier felt a jab in the opening of his armor, which managed to stop him in his tracks, as well as wipe the grin from his hidden face.

His gaze lowered to see a short, pale girl with her arms crossed and a perpetual glare on her face. 'Doesn't she look friendly.' To the side, he noticed a blonde with a much more welcoming, although somewhat tired, expression. Something about her seemed...familiar to him. Something that filled him with a feeling of pure dread. He slammed a gloved hand onto his helmet when realization struck. She looked a bit young, and the outfit was a bit...skimpier than the uniforms he was used to seeing, but there was no mistaking it. The brown attire, the aviator shades: it was the last thing he was hoping to see.

"Alright, ranger," he groaned. "Which way to the Mojave?" Damn it, he was looking forward to this!

She tilted her head slightly to meet the now dim eyes of his helmet. "'Ranger?' You talking to me?"

Well this is great. Did some rookie get the wrong uniform? Looks like the Republic needed him more than he thought. "Yes, 'ranger,' I want to know where I am. Is this California? North of it? Gimme some answers damn it!" He growled under his breath. These people are hopeless. Why did he side with them again?

'Not like I had a choice, but what could they _really_ do to me at this point? Their army wouldn't stand a chance against me.'

"Yeah, I don't have a clue where those are. Geography wasn't really my thing."

'Neither is having an IQ above 60, apparently. Everyone knows where Cali is, you moron.'

"I just wanted to know how you survived tha-" Her eyes fell upon the open circle in his armor. The Courier glanced down to see the raw skin had already started to grow back, although most of the muscle was still visible on the surface.

'Eugh, I shouldn't even be _talking_ to a lady when I'm looking like this.' The more he thought, though, the more confused he became. This girl might not have been quite who he thought she was, but he was quite sure that just about every soul west of Illinois knew who _he_ was, whether it was a good or bad reputation (and it was usually bad.) He heard from the Brotherhood that the whole right half of the country got bombed to smithereens, so that wasn't too likely either. It was possible that this was a ranger settlement deep in Legion territory.

Too deep to send messengers. These people might not even know who is! That didn't quite explain why she didn't know about California, but he was willing to pass that off as plain old brain damage. 'Isn't this just my luck. Stranded thousands of miles away, and _now_ I gotta march all the way through Legion just to get back.' His internal complaining was interrupted by the shorter half of the duo, who began yelling at him.

"How dare you! You think you can speak to us like that? We just saved your life, so maybe you'd like to try showing a bit of gratitude!"

The wastelander turned left, then lowered his head to look at the girl in white. Ignoring her statement, he asked, "The hell are you doing out here? Your mommy know you're wandering around this place?" He watched her glare twist into a seething scowl, but went on anyway. It wasn't often he could tell someone off without them pulling a gun on him, and he was starting to feel just a bit pissed off at this point. "The Wasteland's no place for a little girl. So beat it." He turned away, dismissing the suddenly furious teen and her sniggering companion.

In the middle of his rotation, Six halted at the sight of a figure clad in black and red on the ground. He strode forward as his hand went from his pants pocket to his coat pocket.

"Honestly, I don't think I've ever met some quite as unpleasant as-" The short teen stopped her ranting when she realized nobody, not even her ally, was listening. Both watched him stomp toward their prone comrade, puzzled.

After some digging around, the Courier managed to pull out a suitably powerful gun. 'This oughta put that asshole in the dirt.' He stopped in front of his target with one foot ahead of him, ignoring the ranger's shouting behind him. The cloaked person sat up, and he pressed the Sequoia's barrel against their forehead. 'No way in hell I'm missing, even with my bad eye.'

"Eat shit and die, Legion son of a bitch." Just as he was going to pull the trigger on the stunned Legionary, two 12 gauge rounds were simultaneously unloaded into his right arm from behind him, making him lose his grip on the revolver as his sleeve ignited. The familiar sound of fleeing birds hit his ears.

'Great. More damn ravens. This is d_efinitely_ Caesar's territory.' The logic made sense to him, at least.

Aside from the missing gun and the burning sleeve, he remained in the same position as he glanced over his shoulder; the ranger stood glaring, her metal-clad fists raised and pointed at him. some kind of advanced ballistic fist? Didn't matter. The Courier turned to face the woman, who was now angrily storming toward him. "Stand down, ranger! Why haven't you killed thi-"

_"Nobody," _she squeezed his throat in her right glove, nearly crushing his windpipe. **_"Nobody_**_ touches her!" _Her left fist crashed into his breastplate between his lungs, buckshot piercing metal. The impact sent the Courier skidding backwards, kicking up dust as he slid.

He clutched his bullet-riddled arm, extinguishing the fire that ravaged his coat. Smoke drifted out of the bullet holes on his torso, obscuring his vision. 'What the _fuck_ is _this? _NCR and Caesar? Outside of the Divide? No, this is BS. I want some fucking answers _now.'_He moved a hand in front of him in an attempt to wave the smoke away.

"Ranger or not, I'm shooting you next if you try to stop me again. Now tell me; why are you defending-" Wait.

_What did she say? "-her?"_ Impossible. Women didn't serve in the Legion's army. Caesar would sooner confess to his brain tumor than change that, right? Or was he that desperate to stop the Courier's wrath?

The cloud faded away, allowing him to see more clearly. If he squinted, he could just barely see the small details. Six awkwardly scratched the side of his helmet. 'Jeez, maybe if her chest wasn't so flat i woulda noticed sooner. Or _maybe _she shouldn't be dressed like a Legionary! How many people go prancing around with black skirts and weird torso things anyway?' He glared as he looked closer. Now that he actually took the time to notice, she actually looked pretty good.

"Can't believe I almost shot _that," _he muttered. "Maybe there is such a thing as too careful." But he was getting off track: he had somewhere he needed to be, and it was only a matter of time before the most fearsome/annoying of Bears reared its ugly heads.

Without warning, Six bent down to retrieve his discarded katana, then slid it back into its scabbard. He noticed the blonde raised her gauntlets up to him again. 'Great, just what I need. More trouble.' Silently, he raised his empty hands up to show he was unarmed. Of course, he wasn't really. He was never unarmed. But they didn't need to know that, now did they? He calmly walked past the teens, hands still up, then continued to the charred bird corpse. The battered shishkebab set was slung over his shoulder, and he turned to approach the girl in ignored her gasp as he grabbed the black revolver and holstered it. He stopped for a moment to think, turned to look at her again.

His index and thumb formed an L shape, which he pointed at her. Six decided to follow it up with a click of his tongue. 'Pretty suave, if I do say so myself.' It was a customary greeting in Vegas, after all. The girl didn't seem to share his sentiments, and appeared frightened by the gesture. 'Fine. That's what I get for trying to be nice, isn't it?' It probably wasn't the most appropriate action at the time, but when the Courier wanted to be right, he was usually right.

He turned his gaze upwards. The sun was beginning to set. Six turned the helmet's eyes back up to the brightest setting in preparation for the coming night. Without another word, he started to follow the sun westward.

"Wait, where do you think you're going?" the ranger demanded angrily. "Get back here!"

He glanced back over his shoulder. 'Jeez, how did I miss that?' His hand brushed some of the black fur from his coat distractedly.

"Well? What are you doing?"

He sighed. It's not like he was _trying_ to shoot an innocent (attractive) girl. It was a mix up, that's it! Really, he should be getting an apology; he was the only person who got shot back there! Of course, the odds that she'd actually see things from his perspective were low, so he was just trying to get out without any more injuries. And the longer these kids were around him, the less likely it was that he could actually accomplish this.

"I'm going home," he shouted. "So y'all better back the hell up if you know what's good for you!"

"You think you can tell me what to do? I'll follow you if I want!"

Yeah I can, and no you won't!" This was getting real old, real fast. He was about ready to shoot her in the leg and be done with it, but realized that a: there was no way he could make the shot with his busted eye and b: who knows how long it would be before he found another vendor? He grit his teeth, then calmly strode away from the aggressive girl. "I got a gig in Vegas." His hands went back into his pockets as he slowly crossed the burning field. "And the Wasteland ain't no place for kids!"Without another word, Courier Six disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

* * *

Footnotes:

* - The Courier liked to think differently than other people, usually as a way of conning them out of something. Everyone dies in the Wasteland sooner or later, no exception. "You see, I could have died out _there_ and I wouldn't have ever gotten _here_. But since I _am_ here, that makes me early, y'see? At least, earlier than never."

Not once has Six arrived on time for a mission, and every time he would use the same excuse. Sometimes on the same officer. Of course, the tactic still hasn't worked, but everyone needs to have some kind of a goal to work towards in their life.

** - Although nothing did more to put a damper on the mood than Ruby's god-awful pun. The fact that it could very well be the last thing they ever hear before a quick, painful death only served to add insult to imminent injury.

*** - Even with the existance of Dust, religion on Remnant ended up developing similarly to religion on Earth, albeit on a smaller scale, and with a few twists. Countless theories had been made, usually stating that Dust must have been created by _somebody,_ or that it was really a sentient being, or even that, with faith and good will, people could one day become Dust.

Religion sure was a funny thing. Even after meeting Graham, Six didn't really get it.

**** - The Courier had actually made a mental 'Top 10 Reasons Why I'm Still Alive' list a few months earlier, because boredom could/has made the man do just about everything the Mojave had to offer. He couldn't quite remember how it went exactly, but he was sure his trusty backpedal was somewhere in the top three, right alongside Big Mountain adventures and heavy drug/alcohol use.*****

***** - 'Top 10 Reasons Why I almost Die on a Daily Basis' looks alarmingly similar. Backpedaling was his go-to strategy for crippling cazador wings and radscorpion legs whenever he came across them; what could be more effective than shooting and running away at the same time? Unfortunately, he would more often than not end up wounding both his back and his pride when he inevitably bumps into that surprise rock wall behind him.

* * *

**AN: Not a charming guy, is he? Nobody said it was easy being a badass loner, though.**

**To anyone still reading this story, I will see if I can return to the normal posting schedule.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: I Didn't Choose the Merc Lyfe...

**AN: Well, I'm not quite back on schedule like I'd hoped, but I finished it in about a week, which was the next deadline I was aiming for. I would also like to apologize in advance for any more errors with capitalization/spelling. I noticed the keys on my computer have been acting weird for a little while now.**

* * *

_"Four girls, each suffering just like you. Many others follow, but will you aid them? Your decisions alone will determine their fates._

_"A world, covered in blood and darkness if you do not help it. A man in a coat stands to protect it. Another stands against it._

_"Red and blue, one and the same, but couldn't be more different. Are you the guardian, or the destroyer?_

_"Forecast: unexpected change, with a chance for a fresh start."_

_"Yeah, whatever kid. Can't believe I payed a hundred caps to hear I'd meet a couple of girls. Serves me right for picking 'elsewhere,' huh?" Him? A fresh start? It was almost enough to make the customer laugh. As if he didn't already have his hands full salvaging _this_ mess._

* * *

They were wary of him. Yang was ready to fill him with more buckshot, if need be. But the students had no choice; they were as good as dead unless they followed the helmeted man out of the forest. Even as they walked, the growls of more Beowolves could be heard from further in, but the monsters didn't seem willing to attack as long as _he _was around, and that was enough to convince them. In time, though, their tired limps slowed, and he only seemed to walk faster until he disappeared from sight.

"Wait!" Nora cried. " We can still be friends! You just have to not kill us! Pleeeease?" Her begging was in vain, though; he didn't come back.

Ren was barely heard from his place on her back. "Nora...slow down. We need to rest."

The usually cheerful girl turned to find most of her other friends had already collapsed, and most were unconscious.

"I know why you're mad, Yang," Blake muttered, almost inaudibly. "But if you didn't start arguing with him, he might have been..." She yawned before continuing. "...more likely to help."

"I didn't start arguing, he was starting trouble. It's not my fault that..." The blonde succumbed to exhaustion before she could finish her half-hearted rant.

Nora was quickly feeling the effects of the Initiation process, causing her eyes to droop. "Yeah, I guess so." She leaned her now sleeping partner against a tree. "Nighty night, Ren." She took a seat next to a fallen log before falling unconscious.

* * *

"Alright, since I tried to blast her brains out, so I'm not really in good standing, am I?"

The Courier was at a loss where to go from here. His map would be useless for the job until he actually found a settlement, or at least got some directions, so there was no point in trying that. Instead, he chose to simply walk west; he would have to get back eventually, right? He fiddled with his Pip-Boy as he traveled. "Still, might as well find out who these people are." He stopped in place, then switched the amber screen to his 'Rep List,' one of many magical, all-knowing applications included on the device. It took a good bit of scrolling through the list, which was mostly filled with 'villified's, 'hated's, and the occasional 'merciful thug.' "Wow, I've really let myself go." Finally, he reached the bottom, and was greeted by a small image of a man and woman in black and white, respectively. "'Beacon Academy,' huh?" Flashbacks of robots, anti-commie propaganda, and horrendously painted robot bugs invaded his thoughts. "If it's anything like the last school I was at, I should probably just steer clear." Wait. 'Sneering punk?' His reputation with them is _'sneering punk?'_ How did that even work? Somehow, even after threatening to kill a young girl, he managed to obtain one of the highest (for him, anyway) reputation ranks. "...I don't even wanna try to figure this one out. Sooner I get out, the better."

From behind, Six could hear the rustling of bushes. 'Aw great. They're still at it. Gonna end up luring more of those things to me at this rate.' More shrubs could be heard to either side of him. More of the black coyotes. Judging by their wounds, they're the only other survivors from the battle. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught sight of the three legged beast he almost killed. As tempting as it was to go for them now, even he was getting tired from the fighting. And those kids were so damn _loud!_ Didn't they know the meaning of stealth? If he didn't know any better, the Courier would have thought they were walking around with cinder blocks on their feet. 'That _could_ be arranged, though. I mean, I know guys in the Mafia, right?'

Distracted by his thoughts, it took him a few moments to realize the teens were quieter. A lot quieter, actually. "Well, that's better. Guess they figured it out after all." He turned back, only to find all eight of them had passed out a short distance away from him. "...Or not." Now that he saw them, he was getting pretty tempted to join them on the ground. Lord knows how long its been since he slept, abduction notwithstanding, and that grass was starting to look pretty comfy. Of course, that went against all of his survival instincts; he wasn't willing to find out just how long it would be before those monsters' hunger became stronger than their fear. He sighed, then turned on his heel and continued westward.

He could just barely hear howling in the distance. "I swear, I'm going to burn this forest down if I'm in here any longer. I'll finish the job this time, too." What good was this place, anyway? Six learned a few things from Zion, one of them being the fact that leaves were a lot less edible than they looked, and therefore useless to him. All this forest did was make it harder to find his way back. "How the hell am I supposed to go west when I can't even see the damn sun?" The dark coyotes' cries were closer now, and seemed to be coming from behind him. Once more, the Courier turned back, then raised his hand to his forehead. "In memory of the soon-to-be bait. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten. Suckers." He began to saunter again, all the while struggling to cram Gehenna back into his coat. It took a few minutes before he decided to just let the weapon hang around his neck instead.

"Damn it, I'd have more space if this damn thing wasn't so messed up. Doesn't even go to my knees anymore," Six muttered, grabbing at the uneven ends of his overcoat. He raised his right arm to his face, inspecting the sleeve that was barely held together by threads. "Great. Coat's totaled, armor's busted to hell, and I _still_ don't have a clue where a town is. 'Screwed' isn't even close to-" His vision suddenly filled with green and brown as his head collided with the ground. "Ow! Jeez, what now?"

While he was distracted by his own ranting, he ended up tripping over the slumbering mini Legionary. "...How the hell did she get ahead of me?" His bewilderment shifted to frustration as he noticed the other members of the group were scattered around him. "God damn it, I'm going in circles!" The Courier brought his katana out and began to hack at the lowermost branches above him. "Fucking trees and your fucking leaves, can't see shit with all your-" His tirade quickly deteriorated into a series of furious babbling. It was so _close_. The light from the setting sun was still visible, but with all of the branches obscuring his vision, there was no way of knowing which direction it was coming from.

A collection of growls echoed throughout the forest. Too far in to see the beasts, but that wouldn't last long. He didn't have to worry about figuring out where _that_ came from; they had him and the kids surrounded. 'No way I'm getting out without a fight now, huh?' Still, they were taking their time before attacking, and he was going to take advantage of that. Six reached into his inner pocket on his right side, marked by sewed-on black and yellow striped patch. Five bricks of plastic explosives hit the ground, as well as a small pile of dormant landmines. 'Now there are two ways I could use these...' Would take care of the more immediate issue, or take a chance and help himself in the long run?

With a sigh, he mentally chose the latter, and less traveled, in his case, path. Six turned away from the pile of explosives and tossed a hand grenade over his shoulder as he strolled away. "The hell am I doing, playing babysitter. I'm having enough trouble keeping myself alive here." Still, he wasn't going to wander around this forest forever, and these kids were his best bet for getting out. He bent down to grab the two closest to the hole. Once again, he found himself fighting the urge to shoot, but was able to push that feeling down. "Seriously, how are these girls _not _in the Legion, dressed like this? She's...well, she actually looks like a really hot legate, now that I think about it." After looking at it a second time, the Courier actually found her red hair to look pretty cool, although he couldn't exactly place why. "Man, she looks better than anything you'd find in Vegas. Looks like I made the right choice after all." He threw her over one of his shoulders, then turned to observe her companion. The metal plating didn't look like it would do much in a fight against those things, but Six couldn't help but admire his weapon choice. "Sword and shield. Just when I was starting to think the Wasteland was all outta honor. good on ya, kid." He looked up to the boy's face, and immediately stopped believing it was a boy. "...Aw no, no _G__od damn way._ Even _he's_ prettier than the girls I know!" Life wasn't fair, that much was obvious, but, like always, the universe had an endless supply of methods with which to torment him in the most cruel, unusual, and unexpected ways. He huffed, then shouldered the second teen and returned to the smoking crater.

'Is this thing even big enough? I really don't want to use any more bombs.' In the not-as-distant-as-before distance, the coyotes howled once again. 'Not that I have time, anyway.' He poured a bottle of pure water to cool the charred earth, then dumped the two limp bodies into it. The process went pretty smoothly, up until he ended up running out of space with two more girls still in his arms. That black haired girl and, to his disdain, blondie. They'd understand if he couldn't save _everyone,_ right? He could probably cram dark haired one in, and seven out of eight was a pretty good rescue rate, especially for him.* 'No, man, now's a bad time for a grudge. This isn't NCR, so I might actually get a reward for the job if I do it right.' And the money was always right. It took a bit of nudging, and a few (relatively) gentle stomps before he managed to squeeze the last two unconscious teens into the cramped space.**  
**

"Now for the final touch," he muttered before absently lobbing a doctor's bag on top of the blonde girl. Six approached the nearest tree. With a spin, he landed a powerful kick on the side of the trunk, effectively turning it into the roof of his small makeshift bunker. Being a courier was dangerous work, yes, but the work it did on his legs almost made it worth it. He leaned down next to the gap between the wood and the dirt. "Y'all comfy down there?" He heard a small moan from the hot-headed girl on top. "good to hear. Don't waste that," he said, pointing to the worn, brown bag on top of her chest. "And I'll be expecting some kind of compensation for the trouble." When he stood up, a hot gust of wind was blown onto the back of his neck.**  
**

He stood rigid, his head frozen as he looked over his shoulder to see the skull-like face above him. "...Balls!" Six managed to duck underneath the monster's swing and dive between its legs. It looked like the others were still catching up, thankfully. He ended his assailant's life with a quick stab through the back of its throat. "Okay, c'mon, I gotta give myself the advantage. Not much time, but that shouldn't matter...Oh, who am I kidding? I showed up an hour late to Hoover Dam, for Christ's sake!" His hands went to his pockets desperately, searching for anything that could give him the upper hand.

After cutting his fingers a couple of times on the many knives, he struck gold. "...I mean, I _could_ chuck them? Thirty five pounds is bound to hurt." He quickly abandoned that idea; he only had a few precious bars, and was always looking for a vendor with enough money to trade. Preferably one that was still alive. After even more panicked rooting around, his hand curled around something even better than gold. It was the adrenaline shot of the gods. It was the one thing that gave him the courage to charge a Legion hit squad with nothing but a switchblade handle.*** _It was a dose of Turbo._

He quickly jammed the vial into the front of his helmet and released the fumes. 'Ooooh yeah, this is it.' he monsters had gathered around him just in time. It didn't seem to be too many of them, but in these close quarters, he would have probably taken a good bit of damage without the assistance. There wasn't anything too big, either. Mostly just the dogs. Whether those short, fat ones actually existed, he didn't know, but there was no way of knowing exactly how many species existed in these woods, so he was just going to assume they were real. They were starting to get pretty close; the log would hold for a few minutes, but if the Courier wanted to keep the kids safe (which was debatable at best) he'd have to act fast.

Luckily, he was always fast. Mission deadlines and attendance notwithstanding.

The katana was sent forward in an instant, then stuck through one of the dark dogs' stomachs. The lawn mower blade from Gehenna was yanked from its place and sliced through two more before he withdrew his sword. He easily parried and blocked the claws as they swung toward him with the two blades, then ended the monsters' lives with quick slashes. Suddenly, one of the fat ones began to spin in place, then came at him. Six took a step to the side, then jabbed his blade into the beast's vulnerable underbelly mid-rotation. 'Can't imagine trying to do this at normal speed. I'm not even trying right now!' The other monsters followed until he stood among the severed body parts of the animals. He flipped his katana into a reverse grip, then slid it into its scabbard. 'And he looks good doing it! The crowd goes-'

His eyes widened in fear as his limbs froze. Then they narrowed out of annoyance the moment his knees hit the ground. Turbo withdrawal was always worst right after a fresh trip. That, combined with all the other substances he's been abusing, was starting to take its toll on even him. He fell back against the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.

* * *

When Yang awoke, she was met with a feeling of both pain and regret. She brought a hand to hold her aching skull, which had just made itself acquainted with the wooden barrier above her. A small box rested on top of her. "Oh, suspicious package, sure I'll open it. Why _wouldn't _I?" she deadpanned.

"Well can you hurry up?" Sounded like Jaune was awake as well. And completely oblivious to her sarcasm. "It's getting pretty uncomfortable down here!" Pyrrha's small "Sorry" from on top of him went largely unnoticed.

"Nuh uh, I'm not opening his box! My sis already blew up once, and I'm not exactly looking to find out what _that_ feels like!"

"Well I hope you're planning on getting us out of here some time today!" Great. As if her head wasn't in enough pain.

"Cool it ice queen, I'm working on it!" The blonde pressed her palms to the fallen tree, grunting as she pushed upwards. Either the tree he used was really heavy, or her arms were _really_ tired, or perhaps some combination of both, because the wood didn't budge an inch. "Great, don't tell me I gotta wait for him," she groaned. And that was if he didn't leave them to die, or shoot them after he was finished with whatever it was he was doing.

'Speaking of, where did this guy go?' Yang took a peak between the trunk and the earth. The other guy was just...standing. The Grimm were closing in around him, yet he continued to not move. Did he always do this kind of thing? 'I'll bet he's freaking out under that helmet.' The moment she blinked, however, the scene exploded into a red and black blur, with Beowolf pieces flying left and right. Her violet eyes couldn't keep up with his movements; he was almost as fast as Ruby at her best, and apparently had the swordsmanship skills to match. The fight was finished in seconds, and he sheathed his sword. It was only then that he crumpled to the ground silently. Was this a joke against her? or a strategy against more Grimm she couldn't see?

"Well Yang? What's happening out there?"

"Hang on, Blakey, I think he's about to get up."

"About to?" the girl beneath her muttered. "I heard him collapse a few minutes ago, and you've been staring at him ever since."

Wait, really? Minutes? And he _still_ wasn't moving? "Well this is great, guess _he's_ not getting us out of here." that only left one option, as much as she didn't want to admit. She had to open the box. Yang took it in her gloved hands, then held it facing out of the small gap. "Alright guys, if you're awake, you should cover your ears. If you're not...well, you're about to be." Cautiously, she parted the top of the brown container. No explosion. No toxic gas. both were good signs. She lifted her head to peer into the box; an assortment of bandages, tourniquets, syringes, and other medical supplies filled the inside.

"Well? Are you alive up there? Please don't be dead, I had so much to live for! I haven't even-"

"Hey! cool it, Jauney boy! We'll be fine!" Yang removed her Ember Celica gauntlets and put two of the small wood plank splints on in their place. the needles looked clean, but damn it if she was willing to push her luck now. Lifting the tree became less of a struggle, and she managed to roll it to the side with only some pain.

"Well, it's about time! The dirt down there wasn't the cleanest resting place, you know!"

"Calm down princess, you're dress'll be fine," Yang muttered as she climbed out the hole.

Blake sighed as she followed. "I'm not even sure if it's her you're spiting with that nickname, or me."

One by one, the students climbed out of the crater and stretched their sore limbs. It didn't last long, however, as they remembered the man face down in the dirt a short distance away. Yang nudged him with a foot in a half-hearted attempt to wake him. "Yo. Get up," she grumbled, then decided to just flip him instead. The eight teens gathered around to get a better look at the stranger.

Where they expected to see the same burning eyes, there was only a pair of gray lenses, devoid of light, as if to convey that he was unconscious. One looked ready to shatter at any moment, much like the helmet itself, which was covered in numerous splits, almost as if someone had broken an egg shell and tried to glue it back together.

"Hey, what do you guys think those tally marks are?" Nora asked. "Sure has a lot of them." Most of the other students were already ahead.

"Sure hope it's just Grimm he's got on there," Yang muttered. Judging from his coat, though, that was a fat chance. The brown-turned-red apparel was covered in bullet holes, scorch marks, and cuts cleaner than any Grimm she had seen before. The dented breastplate underneath looked like it had seen much worse, even without the fresh buckshot holes. The more she saw, the more the blonde girl clenched her teeth. Whoever this guy was, she didn't like him one-

"Yang! Let go!" Ruby, who had been silent up until now, was being inadvertently crushed by the elder sister's crossed arms. "Too tight, too tight!"

Yang, who had kept the younger girl in her grasp up until unconsciousness, released her. Ruby, you're talking! Are you alright? Did he traumatize you? I swear, i'll knock his teeth outta that helmet, just say the word!" She slammed a fist into her palm, ready to beat the sleeping man to a pulp.

"Wait, hang on! Let's just...let's hear him out...?" The fifteen year old's words trailed off as her sister gave her a bewildered expression.

"You want to wake up the guy who tried to shoot you? No way, I'm not letting this psycho near you!" Yang's arms wrapped around the other girl, rendering the latter's words unintelligible from the former's cleavage. "If some creep wants to hurt my sister, he's gonna have to go through _me!"_

"Well...I guess they're distracted for now," Pyrrha stated. "Should we carry him out of here now, or...?"

Jaune's eyes went wide at the question. "Pyrrha, are saw what he almost did to Ruby! This guy _kills_ people, he's insane!"

"All the more reason to bring him back, then," Blake countered. "If he's as dangerous as he seems, then we can't let him run loose. The headmaster should know what to do with him." She tapped her golden-haired partner on the shoulder to get her attention, sparing Ruby from being smothered in the process. "I know you don't like it, but you're most likely in the best condition here to carry him."

Yang dropped her dazed sister and scowled at the request. "You're right, I don't like it. Why should we bring him back? All he's done is get us into trouble and try to kill us, anyway."

"It's true," Ren interrupted." But he _hasn't._ Whatever made him want to shoot her, he stopped before he did it. I think he was mistaken about something, but I couldn't hear what."

"_...__Fine,_" Yang seethed. She bent down to grab the snoozing boy's jacket, but he felt like he weighed a ton! "Well, I got bad news guys. Can't lift him."

"What? Oh come on, how heavy could he possibly be?" Weiss slid her hands under him, but was unable to even get his shoulders off the ground.

"Having some trouble there, Schnee?" the blonde teased.

"As if you did any better," the shorter snapped back.

"What does it matter, guys?" Jaune asked. "Even if we _could_ move him, where would we go? Without the sun, we don't even know what direction we're going. We should probably just hide in the hole until someone comes looking for us. We'd be safer there, at le-" A powerful current came down on them from above, cutting off Jaune's sentence, as well as the tree limbs above. Suddenly, a Bullhead descended through the treetops, stopping just before it hit the ground. The hatch door swung open to reveal the headmaster himself.

"I can handle the situation from here, students. You've done well up until now, even under these...odd circumstances."

"P-professor? what are you doing out here?" Ruby shouted over the vehicle's deafening turbines.

"The situation was beginning to look rather urgent, last I saw. With the skills you've demonstrated, you're more than capable enough handling yourselves. I'm sure you could have easily found your way out of the Emerald Forest if it weren't for the unusually high number of dangerous Grimm in the area. Which is why I've decided to make an exception to the rules, and escort you nine back to Beacon."

"Wait, nine?" Weiss shouted. "You're really considering bringing this lunatic on the ship?"

"Miss Schnee, is there a reason why you would be willing to leave a fellow warrior behind?"

"Well, I _could _point out the fact that he rushed in to fight without considering the fact that we'd have to help him out, he tried to burn the forest down _on multiple occasions,_ and I haven't even mentioned the part where he tried to kill my partner! 'Fellow warrior' wasn't quite the first name I had in mind for him." Okay, even for _her,_ that was pretty cold. "...But I guess I'll just have to be the bigger person, won't I?"

"I saw what happened in that fight," Ozpin stated. "I have ways of seeing everything that happens during the Initiation, so I'm more aware of what happened than any of you. But now is neither the time nor the place to discuss my motives for bringing him with us. Everything will be made clear when we return to the Academy."

"Well, even _if _we wanted to," Yang began to point out," that guy isn't even mobile. Unless we're tying him to the ship or something, but...that's..." The clinking of metal against metal came from behind her. And she had a bad feeling she knew why. She turned, and was face-to-chest with the hefty man. His eyes, or at least the helmet, didn't seem to be on her; in fact, he didn't appear to be looking at anything in particular. Not one of the students, not the ship, just straight ahead. And she had an idea why.

"Hey, bud. You awake in there?" She reached up and rapped her knuckles on the side of his helmet. The lenses remained void of any red, and he remained silent. Still as creepy as ever. He began to walk forward, nudging the blonde out of the way as he trudged toward the small airship. The moment he clumsily climbed onto the lowered bay door, the hovering vehicle slammed onto the ground noisily. Even when more Beowolves and Ursas in the distance growled from the disturbance, he simply flopped onto the ship's metal floor, and began to snore. "Alright everyone, if you're not ready for another wave, you should probably get aboard!"

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice!" Jaune shouted as he followed the other trainees onto the ship. The door slammed shut the moment they were all inside, but the vehicle remained in place. Within seconds, one of the pilots' voices crackled over the intercom.

"Er, passengers? I believe there may be a...problem. There's too much weight on this ship."

"What? How is that even possible?" Weiss shouted. "He can't be _that_ heavy, can he?"**  
**

"I don't know what it is, but we're either gonna need less weight or more Dust if we want to get off the ground!"

Yang put a hand on the heiress's shoulder. "Well, guess now's your chance to be the bigger person, huh? Unless you wanna try getting _that _behemoth off." Right on cue, the slumbering man snorted in his sleep.

Weiss groaned in dismay. She didn't have a lot left in Myrtenaster, but if it meant they could get back to Beacon, she didn't have much of a choice. "I'm sure I'll be compensated for this."

"Don't push your luck, princess."

A chorus of sighs echoed throughout the ship.

* * *

For the third time today, the Courier awoke. At this point, it was beginning to look like a regular thing. Would he never again fall asleep of his own volition? Was he doomed to spend the rest of his life passing out after every conflict?

Now that he thought about it for a moment, that didn't sound too bad. Every time he wakes up, the locale only got seemed to get better. First an alien ship, then a forest with a pretty damn good view, and now he was on what was either the softest couch in the Wastes, or a cloud in Heaven. Of course, after the things he's done to survive, it could only be the former. Even the furniture from the Lucky 38 had become stale during the centuries of disuse. And was that air conditioning he heard? It was like a dream come true!

Six frowned. The fact that he was indoors again would likely be a _big_ problem. When he wakes up after passing out in the wild, the worst thing he had to deal with was finding an animal that had his leg in its mouth. If someone else found and retrieved him, on the other hand, they wanted something. That was when it started to get dangerous. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up somewhere between toxic gas and an exploding cranium, or some other, equally dangerous mission. So he did the first thing that came to mind; he got the hell out of there.

Unfortunately, his body didn't want to comply. His sore body rolled off the couch, and landed on the floor. "Augh, crap. Shoulda skipped the other stuff; go straight for the Turbo next time. Or just don't get stabbed! that _did_ manage to set me back a bit..."

"If that's true, I wouldn't mind seeing you at your best."

Ah, perfect. A chance to meet his captor face to face. This should be pretty simple. Six jolted onto his feet and took a quick survey of his surroundings. The office was certainly a lot neater than most he found. The few clean ones were usually decorated with the face of the late president Kimball, and he was pleased to note that this one was an exception. Shelves were lined with who knows how many books, a lone desk with a mess of papers, the usual. Behind the desk, the Courier saw a dark-suited man. His silver hair suggested age, but if that was so, he looked pretty good for an old man. Barring the tired eyes behind his black specs, anyway. In each hand rested a white cup.

"I'm guessing you're the reason I'm here?" If he'd learned anything in the past few hours, it was that it paid to make sure the other guy wasn't an enemy.

The man held one of the mugs to the Courier. "Yes. I have a proposition for you."

'Yeah, of course you do.' Already, this was beginning to sound bad, not to mention familiar. Six slowly, cautiously approached the other, then took the cup. 'Better get the hell out of here ASAP.' He peered into it to see a paper filter filled with coffee grounds.

"The coffee machine is in the corner. I wasn't sure how you took yours." The man now had his back turned, and was scanning the shelves along the back wall.

'Pfft. Dumbass. Guess now's my chance.' Six took the filter between his fingers, then dumped the coffee grounds into the nearest trash can. He put the filter back into the cup and brushed some dark powder out of his sleeve.

"Oh, well, um," he stuttered. This managed to get the older man's attention. "Yeah, coffee isn't really my cup of tea. Which is what I'd prefer."

The other man took the cup/bait like a sucker. "I don't drink it much myself, but I'm sure Miss Goodwitch has some stashed in here somewhere. What kind would you like?"

Six smirked under his helmet, then whipped his lighter out. _"Gunpowder tea."_ He flicked his finger, then sent the metal flying in a perfect arc to land in the gunpowder-covered filter. a large, dark cloud surrounded the man.

The Courier's smile disappeared when the smoke cleared. The other man was not only unscathed, but looked a good bit angrier.

"I was expecting such hostility, but hoped I could at least turn my back on you without getting death threats and poor one-liners." He glared down to the arm of the cup that remained in his hand. "Not only that, but you repay my hospitality by breaking my dishes."

What the hell? How was he alive? That powder was from Big Mountain, it was supposed to be at least ten times as potent. The cup should have outlasted him!**** _And his one-liners were pretty good by Wasteland standards, thank you very much!_

"God damn it, will you just die already?" Six slid a frag grenade from his explosives-filled pocket and chucked it at the other man. It bounced off of the cane that seemed to appear from nowhere, and soared back into his outstretched hand. "...Wait, the fuck?" He threw it back, only to get the same result. "Stop screwing with me, old man!" Within seconds, the explosive was sent back and forth in a blur between the cane and the Courier's punches in an intense variation of 'Hot Potato.' Neither was sure how, but the grenade was sent off course, flying through the nearest window and exploding high above the ground outside.

"You think this is funny, asshole?" When Six turned back to the man, he was expecting at least a smug grin. There wasn't really a more suitable expression after a display like that, really. Instead, all he saw was the same slight glare on the other man's face.

"Not in the least. I've been lenient with your actions up until now, but I will _not_ allow you to put my students in danger any longer. That grenade was your last warning."

The more he looked, the more creeped out the Wastelander felt by the stare. 'And I thought _I_ was scary!'

He shakily raised his hands in surrender. "So uh...that offer of yours?" It might be easier to play by this guy's rules. _For now._

The gray-haired man at least seemed satisfied now. "First off, I should introduce myself. I am Professor Ozpin, the headmaster of Beacon Academy. The hunters and huntresses who train here are-"

"Okay, nuh uh, gonna have to stop you right there, sorry. I've had enough history lessons in my lifetime." Many an hour was spent standing in the Divide, because God could that guy go on. "I'm wondering what you want _me specifically_ to do."

The man looked slightly irritated, but made no mention of it. " I am extending to you an invitation to enroll in Beacon. Here, you will train to exterminate the Grimm that infest Remnant."

Nope. Six didn't get a word of that. Remnant? Probably just the town name or something. He stepped forward to approach the other man, crossing his arms. "And these Grimm...are these the things I was fighting earlier?"

"Yes, I noticed you held your own against them quite well. But you're too reckless. If you learned to work with a team, you could-"

"Alright, alright, whatever. What I _really_ want to know is, what do you have that's stopping me from leaving? I like to know how I die in advance, please. Just give me three tries. I wanna say...bomb in my gut, hit squad, and...hmm. I dunno, pit o' radscorps? Haven't heard that one before."

"Of course not. You are making your choice entirely of your own free will. If you wish to, you can step outside that door behind you and never hear from me again."

"When I walk into a bottomless pit, no doubt," Six grumbled. He'd heard enough loopholes from the Republic to know where this was going.

"If you choose to leave, you're free to live your own life. There will be no interference from me. I would, however, like to remind you that this opportunity is given to very few peo-"

"Well hey, who cares about that, right? I'd be happy to help you out! I just like to know the kinda guy I'm working for _before _I sign up for anything. You seem alright, as far as employers go. So, what's the pay?"

Ozpin lowered his mug onto the desk. "Hunters and huntresses are not paid upon the completion of a mission. We are servants to humanity who dedicate our lives to protect our world."

"..."

* * *

The eight students were all waiting in the hallway outside of Ozpin's office. He had ordered them to stay here, but 'never open the door under any circumstances.' The two booms that came from inside were really tempting them to, however. They weren't even able to hear most of what the two men were saying inside. Suddenly, the stranger's voice became closer, and clearer. Eight (nine, really) ears were pressed against the wall around the door frame.

He became much louder after his foot kicked the office door open. The eight stared wide-eyed at the leg; wherever he came from, he was, quite literally, dressed to kill. At least, the bloodstains and dents on the steel-capped cowboy boot suggested as much. The spurs didn't look too clean, either. He waltzed out of the room in his usual hands-in-pockets strut.

"Ha ha, good one! Almost got me there, too! Alright, let's see. I've been here..." He checked the device on his arm. "...three hours, it looks like, and I've already almost died, like, four times! I've know myself, and I know my own limits; any other day, I wouldn't have survived three of those. And the fourth?" He jerked an accusing finger towards Yang. "Goldie Locks over here, who I can only assume is one of your students, pumps me full of lead right after I get stabbed by a _thirty foot bear. _If I didn't wear extra armor under this, I'd be picking buckshot out of my lungs right now. And now you're asking me to do it some more? On a regular basis? _For free?"_

The same question was echoing in most of their heads; who was _this_ asshole? He didn't sound anything like the other students trying to get into Beacon. Was he actually turning down a chance at enrolling after already passing the trial?

"Well, I got news for ya, buddy," he continued. "That's not how _I _do things. I'm a mercenary. That means I _don't_ sign up for missions that'll get me killed unless you got a damn fat wallet. And I _sure as hell_ don't help with some unselfish cause for nothing. If you want someone who will, I know plenty of, what do you call them...morons? Nutjobs? Somethin' like that. Anyway," He turned and stormed off, throwing a wave over his shoulder. "I'm out. See you later."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." The headmaster stepped into the hall, and called out to the departing man. "I hope the West's Butcher can find his place here."

That seemed to be enough to stop the student in his tracks. "...Huh. Guess my reputation precedes me after all. Although I can't help but wonder: what context did you hear it in? Was it 'West's Butcher' as in 'That Guy Who Kills Things for the West?' Or was it "He Who Butchers the West?' 'Cause, y'know, the sooner that gets cleared up, the better."**  
**

"You tell me. It was one of your many names in your device's journal entries." The Trenchcoat boy whirled around. "They were incomplete, they were contradictory, and they were likely more than a little biased, but they helped fill in some of the blanks of your backstory."

Before anyone knew what was happening, the sound of gunshots and, oddly, guitars, rang throughout the hall. "Going through those entries was a mistake, buddy." His voice was low and menacing as he emptied the white revolver in the direction Ozpin was standing.

"I had to know whether or not you would be a hazard." A thin blade was lowered to the back of the helmeted boy's neck. "Even now, I'm unsure if I made the right choice."

He remained motionless, except for the loosening of his grip on the revolver, which now dangled on his trigger finger. "Well. the leader can actually defend himself. That's _refreshing. _So...don't suppose you're still offering that ride, huh?"

Ozpin lowered his sword, but kept it on hand. The other warrior seemed ready to shoot at a moment's notice, and there was no knowing when he might try it again. "A ship has been prepared to take you to the city. After that, you're on your own. Of course, you will have to wait while I have a word with my students." The masked man sighed, holstered the gun to the sound of a guitar chord, then leaned against the wall.

"Can you hurry it up then?" He glanced back at the machine on his arm. "Got a job to do. One that pays pretty good, I expect."

The professor turned toward the other students, who appeared to be trying to merge with the wall in an attempt to not be seen. Or caught in the fight, possibly. "Come with me, please," he requested as he walked back through the doorway. Once the eight were inside, he shut the door behind them.

"Um...prefessor?" Ruby questioned. "What just happened back there?"

"The man on the other side of that door...is not like you. The land he comes from is a place where you have to be willing to do anything to survive. And he's already done most of it, if his logs were anything to go by." For the first time in what felt like ages, Ozpin felt a hint of sadness creep into his expression. "But that is his story to tell, if he so chooses. A ship has been prepared to carry him to the City, but he cannot roam free. you four," He gestured to the as-of-yet unnamed Team RWBY, "will be sent to keep an eye on him. As we've seen, he's too dangerous and unpredictable to be alone. But after reading what he's been through, I'm willing to offer him a chance at a better life, even if he refuses to accept my help."

"I don't want to seem disrespectful sir," Weiss said, "but are you asking us to babysit him? Don't huntresses have better things to be doing with their time?"

"Miss Schnee, I assure you there is nothing to worry about. The school year still has another week to start, after all. you may turn down the job, as there are others I can ask, but you've seen his style of fighting. Therefore, you may be the ones I can rely on most in case he gets out of control."

"Well I think we should put it to a-"

"Yang," Weiss hissed. "If you say 'a vote' I swear-" The other three girls' hands were already in the air. The heiress slammed her hand to her face. "Ruby, do I have to remind you that this is the guy who tried to kill you?"

"But that was a mistake Weiss, I know it! We should just hear him out."

A deep voice was heard through the wall. "Yo, we going or what? The more I wait, the flak I get from the Colonel!"

"It will only be another moment," Ozpin informed him, before turning back to the students. "I only ask that you watch over him for a few days. I can have others take over if need be. And one more thing." He leaned in closer, then spoke in a hushed whisper. "_Do not be seen. Do not follow him too closely. _If he discovers that I'm watching him, he's likely to become much less friendly.

"You can count on us, sir!" Ruby exclaimed, ignoring the man's scoff from on the other side of the wall.

"So, um, sir?" All eyes were turned to Jaune, who had grown hesitant to speak now that the attention was on him. "Well...it's...I was wondering why we were all brought here. To the office, I mean." Being this close to the headmaster, and the _school records_ for that matter, was starting to put him a bit on edge. Paranoia was a hell of a thing.

"Honestly, I was hoping he would be more open to joining us, at which point he would have been added to one of your two teams. Unfortunately, it seems-"

Ruby interrupted uncontrollably. "Wait, are you saying me and Yang are on the same team?"

"Oh dear, it seems I did let that slip, didn't I?" The headmaster sighed in feigned exasperation. "I really must be more careful about making this sort of information public."

"Yippee!" the fifteen year old was too excited to pay any mind to the stranger's groans of 'oh God' from the hallway. "Isn't this great Yang?"

"Alright Rubs, we can celebrate later. But that still doesn't explain why we couldn't just come up after you were done talking with him."

His dour gaze became unfocused, and he turned, as if to face the boy on the other side of the wall. "As I said, I studied his diary entries. I got to know who he was. I can't say I wasn't expecting him to refuse my offer." Ozpin's eyes met the ground before shutting. "Not many can survive life on the battlefield. Those who do are not likely to return unchanged." He knew that better than anybody, after all. And yet, despite their similarities, he could only wonder why he and the mercenary turned out so different. "Students, let this man serve as a warning to you all; if you are not cautious, you _will_ end up as the very same monster you seek to destroy. You four," He gestured to the members of JNPR, "are free to return to your assigned dorm room. Tell nobody about what you've heard. As for the others, you will be escorted to the ship. Dismissed."

* * *

The five walked shoulder to shoulder while Ozpin guided them a short distance ahead. The lone boy of the group looked around the hallway, dim red eyes taking in the decor. "So, what, you guys slavers or something? 'Cause you're keeping this place looking pretty good."

"Slavers? You mean, like, people who own slaves?" Ruby gawked. "Of course not! Why would you even think something like that?"

"Oh, nothing. _Legionary._" The sudden scowl on his face managed to transfer into his harsh voice.

"What does that even mean? I don't get why you're attacking me."

"yeah, what's you're beef with my sister? You mess with her, you're messing with me!"

"Yeah, I noticed." He rubbed his forearm absently. "You messed up my coat," he grumbled. "_My problem_ is that she just so happens to dress like one of the biggest bunch of assholes in the Wasteland. Just lookin' at her makes me wanna shoot something."

"Hey, speaking of wastelands," The youngest smiled uneasily as she moved herself between the man and her sister in an attempt to disarm the growing tension. "Where do you come from?"

"Well, from what I can tell, we're nowhere near it. Mojave Desert," he sighed. "Biggest, shittiest dust hole I've ever laid my eyes on. And haven't even mentioned the killers, crooks, thieves, rapists, poisonous creatures and plants...get the picture?"

Ruby suddenly wanted to get as far away from him as possible, as soon as possible. And yet he didn't seem bothered by what he said in the least. None of the other members of her team were eager to make eye contact with him either, it seemed. "and you...live in this place? How? And _why?"_

"For number one: with the safeties off all the time. To answer your second question...well, a man's gotta make his money _somehow,_ yeah? What better place for a mercenary to thrive than a place where people are killing each other nonstop?"

Yang wasn't happy with the answer at all, but managed to keep her clenched fists lowered. "So, you decided to start hurting other people for your own gain huh? If you're not with us, then good riddance, I say."

The boy's voice turned steely as he turned to look straight at the blonde. "Yeah, okay. You wanna tell me how far _you'd_ be willing to go to live? If you had to choose between shooting a man or having him shoot you, what would _you _pick?" He waved a hand past her stunned face before she could even think of an answer. "Bah, I don't wanna hear it. You'd probably lie anyway." He sensed a movement to his right, and turned to see the black haired girl staring intently at a plain-looking book. "What, my stories not interesting enough for you? Haven't said a word."

Blake didn't move her eyes from the pages. "No...that's not it at all," she explained. "It's just that some of your story...brought back some memories, is all." Survival, no matter the cost? Someone like him would probably fit right in with the White Fang.**  
**

"Alright, I guess I can get that, but if it's bothering you so much I could just talk about something else." His voice took on an overly disheartened tone instantly, and he brought the back of his hand up to his forehead. "I just can't bear the thought of such a beautiful woman like yourself ignoring me like this!" he shouted as streams of tears ran down the face of his battered helmet.

And just like that, all credibility was lost. What happened to the stone-cold killer a moment ago? How was he crying through a helmet in the first place? Would there even be a point to asking these questions?

"So..." He draped a heavy arm across her shoulders. "I guess you like to read, huh? Well, I, too am literate."

"Congratulations," Blake deadpanned, quickly returning to her novel. "I'm sure your parents are proud."

"Huh? What, is that not impressive around here?" he asked, withdrawing his arm. "And yes, I'll have you know my mother was quite proud when she taught me to read, thank you very much!"

"All right, students, here we are. I suppose this is where we part ways," Ozpin said, holding a hand out to shake the other man's hand. "I truly wish you would reconsider, but I also hope you'll enjoy your new life."

"New life?" The helmeted boy walked past the headmaster without so much as a glance. "If you really _did_ read my logs, you'd know that NCR wouldn't give up someone like me so easily. 'Sides, can't stick around too long. Gotta get back ASAP before those asshats screw up my desert any more. Later, dude." He disappeared into the ship, followed by Ruby, Blake, and Yang.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to survive the trip down with these people," Weiss sighed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll manage. After all, you've come this far, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I'll try to keep these..."She took a peek inside the ship. Ruby was yelling. Yang had the man in a full nelson while he sat on a chouch. Blake was...doing just fine in the corner, actually. "..._animals_ in check," she finished with a hiss.

"I'm glad to hear it. I hope to see you alive in a few days." And with that, he shut the ship's door in her face.

"Wait, just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

The airship lifted off the ground, and began its journey towards the City.

Weiss could feel a bruise forming on her forehead, and decided to skip the face-palm this time around. 'Oh great. What am I getting myself into?'

* * *

"What the crap are you doing, blondie? Get offa me!" He barely got a chance to sit down before the girl attacked him. "'Hospitality' my ass, I want a word with four eyes!"

"I'm not letting go until you apologize to Ruby!" Her grip around his body tightened, and her hands threatened to crack the damaged, brittle metal.

"Come on, Yang! Just let him go so he can explain himself!" No matter what she said or how hard she pulled on her, the girl in red was unable to convince the bigger, older teen to let go.

"Well? Let's here it," she growled menacingly. "We don't have all day."

Six stopped his struggling, then muttered, "Yeah, fine. Sorry you dress like Caesar's bunch of D-bags." He slid out of her arms and ducked underneath the slap that was aimed for the back of his head. "_Alright, Christ!_ I'm sorry I tried to blow your head off. Damn."

The white haired girl jumped in. "Hang on. Are you telling me you tried to shoot Ruby _just because of how she dresses? _Do you realize how ridiculous that is?"

"Well if you came from where _I _come from, you'd probably do the same. The Legion has a 'shoot-slash-stab-slash-blow-up-on-sight' policy with me, so I give it right back to 'em. Why would I wait for the other guy to shoot first?"_  
_

"Alright then," the blonde known as 'Yang' began. "What did you do to them? It's not like people just shoot each other out of the blue."

"Don't they? You guys really _do_ have it easy, huh? Well to sum it up, I actually shot first. But before you get on my case, I'll have you know I found these guys in a town they burned to the ground. They run a massive slave trade, they rape and pillage, and they look pretty stupid while they do it." He waved a dismissive hand at Ruby's expression, which he mistakenly assumed was a sign that she was offended, when really she was disgusted. "Don't worry, your outfit isn't _nearly_ as bad, not by a long shot. Point is, I'm like a freaking hero when you think about it. Even if I just did it for their loot. But really," he said with a shrug. "Tons of money and a great reputation for a badass gunman. What's not to love?"

"So, what happened after that?" the dark haired girl asked from her corner. "You haven't even mentioned this 'NCR' that you work for."

The Courier leaned back in his seat and groaned, placing a hand on his face in the process. "Right. _The Republic.'_

"Hm? If you don't like them, why do you help them?" Ruby asked.

"Don't get me wrong, they're the best bet the Wasteland has." He held up three fingers and pointed to each. "The Legion is gonna collapse the moment Caesar's brain does. I doubt that surgery I gave him was real thorough, so that's probably soon. Then you got independence, and I already know for a fact that that city would've just been one big barrel of oil waiting to light up. And House?" He gave a small chuckle. "Guy was a jerk. No way. So I went with the guys who actually run things somewhat logically. Take over whatever you see, and reap the benefits, and leave the population to fend for themselves. It's how I'd go, anyway."

"Yeah, okay, that's great," the blonde muttered, inspecting her fingernails. "so what's got you so hot and bothered whenever you hear their name?" He felt a vein pop in his forehead, although he wasn't sure whether it was her frustrating nonchalance or the thought of the Republic's...methods.

Then he thought about how most of his missions went, and started to rub the back of his head, mildly embarrassed. "Well, y'see...when you're as notorious as I am, people start to send their best at you. And you have to do the same. So, sometimes, things get a little...out of hand. As in, craters. Rubble. Nuclear fire. A mess in general, really."

"And?" she retorted, filing said nails. He figured it out; she was just pissing him off.

"But," He clenched a fist in front of him, and his lenses flared in anger. "when stuff like that happens, they make _me_ pay for the damages from my own wages! How am I supposed to make a profit when I'm practically losing more than I gain? But what choice do I have? I mean, sure, they rob me blind, but I still end up with more than I'd get going solo. Guess I'm gonna need to be careful now, though. I lost a lot of guns on the way here, so now I'm gonna have to save up to rebuild my arsenal."

"Oh, come on," Yang drawled. "Don't tell me you need more weapons. I saw you pull out two swords and a pistol, isn't that enough?"

"All the more reason to save up, then. My katana's probably nicked to hell, my duster's a bunch of scraps, no thanks to you. My metal parts are dented like crazy. And then I gotta get more gas and mower blades for-" He jerked up from the couch and sprinted to the door. "Where the hell is Gehenna? And my other weapons?" Only now did he realize they had taken off a good while ago. "Son of a _bitch,_ not again!"

"Would you calm down?" the short, pale girl shouted. "They were put in the storage area before we boarded."

I should hope so. That shishkebab is one of a kind."

"But you still haven't answered the question," the Corner girl stated. "_Why_ do you need so many weapons? Three seems like more than enough to me."

"Oh please, that's barely scratching the surface. Besides, it pays to be armed."

"I'm pretty sure the saying is 'prepared,'" she retorted.

"Yeah, whatever. How long 'til we're there, anyway?"

Yang pointed to the section of the ship one room over."Well, if you just look out the window, you'll see." The quintet proceeded to the glass panes. Six was left speechless by the view, and he slowly, silently walked until he was inches from the glass. "See that?" the girl continued. "City of Vale. Down there's the nightclub where I took out a gang single-handed, and there's-"

He emitted a bloodcurdling shriek and began to pound on the glass with his fists. **"God damn it, what are we doing up here! Let me out!"** The glass remained sturdy under the force of his voice, although his hits were doing far more damage. His hand was grabbed before he could throw another punch into the cracking surface.

"I knew you were insane, but can you at least wait until we land before you try to kill yourself?" He looked over his shoulder to see the white haired girl clutching onto his arm.

"Don't you get it? We'll _all_ be dead if we stay on here, the ship's gonna blow! I want off this wild ride!"

What's wrong with you? Ozpin wouldn't put a bomb on the ship, weirdo." Yang turned to her younger sister and whispered. _"Reeeeally starting to miss barf boy right now, how 'bout you?"_

"WHAT? CAN'T HEAR YOU, SIS!"

"Jeez, keep it down! Man, that guy can yell," she muttered as her ears continued to ring.

"No! You can't lie to me!" he shouted. Six ran past the girls and began to claw at the carpeting, looking for any sections of the floor that looked abnormal. "Legion got Kimball the same way, and now they're after me! C'mon, there's gotta be a hatch or an escape pod or _something,_ right?"

"Would you calm down?" the blonde shouted. "We don't have any slavers or anything here, alright? Blake, you planning on helping out here or what?" She turned to see her partner curled up and facing the corner with her hands clutching her ears.

_"Don't talk to me,"_ she hissed.

"I don't care what you say, the Legion has eyes everywhere! Can't you people just let me go home?" he pleaded. "Just drop me here and you'll never hear from me again!"

_"I think that sounds lovely," _said the Corner girl.

Alright, but _why?"_ Ruby asked desperately. "There's no reason to want to go back!"

"I know the place sucks, but at least I can _live _there. Getting shot a couple of times is nothing compared to, you know, getting _impaled_."

"If you don't want to die, then just live here! It's way better than that wasteland anyway!" she retorted.

"No. No way in hell. I won that Dam, that city, _that whole damn desert_ with my own two hands, and now the NCR's getting it from me for free? They still haven't even payed me for that, and they're more than a few months overdue."

Yang scoffed at his answer. "Great, so you just want more money? Are you really that greedy? Sounds to me like you aren't any better than those Legion guys!"

The Courier rose from the ruined carpet and glared at her through his helmet. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are, acting like you pansies know what I've seen?" He raised a finger in her direction, slowly approaching her with slow, terrifying stomps. "_I_ don't leave people tied onto crosses to die. _I_ don't break a person's legs and make them run laps around the camp. _And I sure as hell_ don't keep slaves for work I could easily do myself." By the time he finished, he towered over her and stared down with his burning red eyes. He then held his Pip-Boy up for her to see. "Tell me what you see here," he growled.

Her eyes threatened to pop out of her skull. He saw the face of pure, unadulterated fear. "...P-people killed...f-fourty-six thousand, eight hundred and ninety five..."

The room was as quiet as it was motionless. The room itself seemed to grow darker and darker, until the Red Glare stood out in the shadows. They must have stayed like that for a few minutes, but nobody dared to move, in fear of being #46,896 on that counter. With a muffled thud, the ship touched down onto the ground. "Well, that's my stop!" Six yelled happily, as if a switch had been flipped. He moved past the speechless teens and started to rummage through the dark storage room, humming a jolly tune all the while. "jeez, you guys really should lighten this place up a bit, can't see a thing!" He emerged with the swords slung over his shoulder. "It was nice meeting you lovely ladies!" He cast a small glare at the stunned Weiss and Yang. "well, some of you, anyway," Six grumbled. "But I've got somewhere to be. Casinos to rob, nations to crumble, you know how it is." The Courier turned to walk down the ramp and waved a hand over his shoulder. "See ya, girls!" he cheered, before he disappeared into the city, leaving the students behind in the aftermath of his presence like a storm that had just blown through.

The moment he turned the corner, he began to laugh uncontrollably. 'Oh God, they fell for it! They really bought it!' As if a_nyone_ could kill that many people! The Courier looked again at the counter on his Pip-Boy. It could very well have been possessed for all he knew. In fact, it seemed more than likely; it kept track of his karma and reputations way better than he ever could!

"But," he smirked. "It's no match for a hacker of my caliber." He set off to explore the great city.

* * *

Footnotes:

* - The fact that the Courier managed to achieve a negative score in these situations spoke volumes, however. If anything, he managed to go down in the Republic's history as the first, and only, man to solve a hostage negotiation by holding _himself_ hostage, even if he didn't remember it.** Six also managed to find his way into the army's handbooks under the recently added section labelled _'T__actics to Never be Used, Ever.' _It is comprised entirely of strategies that he was actually able to use _successfully,_ for no mortal could follow in his footsteps, and any who were foolish enough to try would probably end up leaving his or her camp a smoking radiation pit in an attempt to recreate it.

** - This was one of the more tame, and successful, missions, of course. the negative points were usually other Republic troops foolish enough to not desert while they had the chance. There was a reason he ended up going on 'lone-wolf' missions more often than not, and it wasn't always because the missions themselves were too dangerous.

*** - And vodka was the one thing that could give him the idea in the first place. Still, what didn't kill him made him stronger. Or, in this case, the most terrifying man to cross the West Coast. The reputation Six got from alcohol/drug induced stunts such as this contributed to his legendary status, but once again, he was oblivious to most of it, leaving him as one of the only people in the Wasteland not fully aware of some of his most impressive feats.

It was just a good thing luck started to take his side once he got shit-faced, or he would have died before he reached New Vegas.

**** - Six had been more than surprised at the number of intact junk that filled the Wasteland, such as its great number of coffee cups and clipboards. Fascinated, even.***** It quickly got out of hand when he planned to construct a set of indestructible armor with nothing but clipboards, mugs, wonder glue, and a whole lot of duct tape. The NCR was smart enough to put the project on hold, on the grounds that it was "Real fucking dumb."

***** - So fascinated, in fact, that if the two were able to hold a decent conversation with an intelligent living thing, he would have gotten along great with Muggy. The two actually had little in common, but could probably talk about mugs and their disdain for Robert House for hours on end.

* * *

**AN: Not quite where I was expecting to end this one, but I felt like turning his chances at a date into a total train wreck. I also decided to turn it into a two-part segment (or at least, it _would_ be a two-part segment if this were a show) so that I could release this earlier and have more time to finish the second part.**

**But mostly because I wanted him to be scary as shit out of nowhere. When will he learn the meaning of 'repercussions?'**


End file.
